


pour some sugar on me

by bizarrebird



Series: Diner AU [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M, Mostly Fluff, Some background relationships, and tex as a much less protective actual sibling, caboose is basically tucker's other kid, ex-con wash, featuring north and york as overprotective not quite siblings, sexy food fight, the shitty diner au no one asked for, who's a nerdy pastry chef
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-15 08:42:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 25,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10553404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bizarrebird/pseuds/bizarrebird
Summary: The Blood Gulch diner doesn't have a lot going for it. After the passing of poor old Butch Flowers, it doesn't even have a chef. Tucker doesn't expect the solution to the problem to be a cat loving, fresh out of prison, bundle of nerves, but he gave up on things going the way he expected years ago. And maybe that's not such a bad thing.





	1. what's new pussycat

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a quick little one shot to give me a break from writing the intense parts of In Screaming Color. It sorta got away from me, oops. I have no self control when it comes to silly aus.

The Blood Gulch Diner is just as shitty as the town around it. Red paint peels on the outside and the blue chairs and booths have probably been there since dinosaurs were sitting at the counter and chugging cheap coffee. There’s a few ancient danishes in a glass case next to the register and things that are probably supposed to look like pies in the display under it.

Tucker waves off an elderly couple, working hours smile carefully in place. “Thanks for coming, hope to see you again!” The door closes behind them. “Fucking dicks. When did people stop tipping?”

“If it makes you feel better, I spit in their food.” Grif leans into the pick up window between the kitchen and the main part of the diner. His dark hair spills out from the hair net, ponytail draped over one shoulder. “That old dude looked kinda racist, so I figured I should beat them to the punch.”

“Good call.” Tucker glances around at the deserted diner. The only occupied booth is the one where Caboose and Donut sit coloring kids’ menus. He groans and leans on the register. “This fucking sucks, dude.”

“What can I tell you, man, Tuesdays are always slow.”

“It’s Friday.”

“Well fuck.”

Tucker groans again and smacks a hand against the register. It dings and the drawer shoots open and hits him in the gut with enough force to wind him. Gasping, he curses and tries to shove it back. Stupid old thing. He’s pretty sure Sarge went out of his way to get the oldest, moodiest register in the world and the thing is definitely out to get him.

There’s a crash from the kitchen. “Grif! What the fuck are your clothes doing in the dishwasher again?”

Grif sighs and tugs off his hairnet and flings it through the window. “That’s it, I’m going on break.”

The door to Sarge’s office flies open, cigar smoke following the man in a thick, noxious cloud as he strides out. “Men, time for a meeting! Everyone get your keesters in a seat!”

Tucker looks up, still trying to force the register closed, change clicking together and mocking him. The old man moves to his usual seat at the counter. There’s old army tattoos peeking out from under the sleeves of the polo he thinks looks professional. A half smoked cigar still dangles from his lips as Sarge slams the counter for attention.

“Oh, here we go--what now, Sarge?” Grif leaves the window and steps out of the kitchen, Simmons following, rubber gloves still on that reach up over his elbows. The pair of them lean on the other side of the counter as Caboose and Donut look up from their coloring.

“Men, the situation is dire,” Sarge says, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “As you may have noticed, business ain’t exactly alive and kickin’ lately.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Grif rolls his eyes and snags a danish from the case. He takes a bite and curses when he almost chips a tooth.

“What was that, maggot?”

“No shit, _sir_.”

Sarge brightens up a little, nodding. “That’s more like it. But I believe I’ve finally found the problem.”

“You mean other than our last chef dying on the premises?” Simmons only sounds slightly sarcastic from his place leaning against the counter. “Have you found a replacement yet, sir?”

“What? No, the problem is the menu! These are all wrong.” Sarge grabs one from the counter and smacks it with the back of his hand. “Look at this! Who writes a menu in papyrus? What we need is a new font!”

Grif sighs. “Jesus Christ. Right, if anyone needs me, I’m gonna go take a nap in the back room.”

There’s a soft chime of a bell as the front door opens. Everyone straightens up for a second. “Men, battle stations! We’ve got customers!”

“Oh, that’s not a customer, that’s Church!” Caboose leaps out of the booth, smiling brightly as he rushes to pull out Church’s usual stool at the counter.

Sarge sighs and sinks back in his seat. “False alarm.”

“Oh up yours, man.” Church and Tex stride in, taking the stools at the counter that they’ve had dibs on for the last five years. Letting out a low whistle, he looks around the place. “You guys really know how to draw a crowd, don’t you?”

Moving almost on impulse, Tucker grabs two mugs and pours both of them coffee, sliding the mugs down the counter. “Fuck you, dude. I don’t see you ordering anything.”

Church scoffs. “Yeah, cause the food here sucks. Uh… no offense.”

Simmons sighs and shrugs. “No, no it does.”

Tucker pours himself a cup of coffee as well and leans back against the wall, idly sipping at it. It’s mostly grounds and they get stuck in his teeth, but he’s made his choice and he can’t back out now. No one says much of anything. Even Sarge looks rather defeated, idly puffing at his cigar as he reviews the menu critically.

“Well, you guys sure do know how to have fun,” Tex notes, swirling her mug in one hand. There’s no real malice in her smirk as she looks around at them.

Caboose sighs heavily. “Yeah, yeah it’s hard to have fun when everything is awful and all the food tastes like Grif.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Sarge shakes his head and drops the menu onto the counter.

“Why the fuck haven’t you guys replaced Flowers yet?” Church reaches over the counter and grabs a handful of sugar packets.

Tucker shrugs. “Well, at first it kinda seemed like it was too soon, y’know? But we’ve had that ‘now hiring’ sign up for ages now.”

“No one wants to fucking work here. Hell, I don’t want to work here,” Grif says, sneaking one of Church’s sugar packets and ripping it open, downing the contents like a shot.

Simmons snorts. “You barely even work here.”

“So… you guys are really desperate for a new chef, huh?” Tex drums her fingers on the counter, something thoughtful in her expression.

“Uh yeah, no shit. Look at this place.” Tucker gestures around at all the empty tables.

For some reason, Church is staring her down, brow slightly furrowed. “Tex…”

She tips her head to one side. “I might know a guy.”

Tucker cocks an eyebrow. “Who?”

“My brother,” she says casually. “He’s looking for a new place to work and he’s got some experience in a kitchen.”

“Wait, really?” Tucker frowns. “Since when do you have a brother?”

“Since forever, dumbass.” Tex rolls her eyes and pulls out her phone. “If you want, I can text him, see if he’s interested.”

Grif holds up a hand. “Wait a sec, why have we never heard about this guy before? You know we’ve been looking for a new cook for ages.”

Tex shoots him a glare. “Well, he wasn’t available then. He is now.”

Tucker can’t stop the wave of suspicion creeping over him. “And why’s that?”

“Dude just got outta prison,” Church says, cutting Tex off before she gets a chance. She growls and punches him in the shoulder. “Bitch! I was just being honest!”

“Fuck you, Church.” Her eyes are narrowed dangerously, but she slowly looks away from him, glancing around the others. “Yeah, alright, he did just get released. He’s still a chef and I don’t see a whole lot of people lining up to apply for the job. Do you want me to call him or not?”

Simmons shakes his head, stepping back, retreating to the doorway to the kitchen. “Fuuuuuck that. I’m not working with a criminal! And if he’s related to you, he could probably rip us in half!”

“Yeah, I’m with Simmons.” Grif nods. He shoots a wary glance at Tex. “Look, no offense, but you’re terrifying. I don’t wanna see what prison dude version of you is like.”

“We’ll take him.”

Everyone turns to look at Sarge. The old man’s sitting up straight in his seat, looking straight at Tex.

“What?” Tucker hasn’t heard Simmons’ voice crack like that since the party where Caboose accidentally set his encyclopedias on fire. “Sir, you can’t be serious.”

“Dead serious, Simmons.” He slowly turns to look at all of them. “Look, boys. If we don’t get a decent cook in here, this place is going under, ain’t no two ways about it. Been meaning to tell you for a while, but the numbers just ain’t what they used to be. This is the first chance we’ve got to turn that around, I say we take it.”

He slides off the stool and motions for Tex to follow him. “C’mon, let’s you and me have a talk about this brother of yours, see if we can’t get this sorted.”

She nods, trailing behind Sarge into his office. The door shuts with a click and Tucker rounds on Church. “What the fuck, dude?”

“What did I do?” Church blinks as he dumps the tenth sugar packet into his coffee.

“How long did you know about this guy?”

Not looking at him, Church shrugs, running a hand through messy black hair. “A while. But look, he literally just got out of prison a week ago. Not a whole lot he could’ve done before that.”

“Do you know what he did?” Donut’s finally moving from the booth, walking up to lean against the counter.

Church shakes his head. “Not exactly. There was some legal thing at the last restaurant he worked at, but I don’t think that’s what got him sent away. I’ve only met the guy a couple times. My bet is he stabbed someone.”

Grif groans. “Just fucking great. If anyone wants me, I’m gonna go eat all the good shit in the fridge before Mr. Stabs a lot shows up and murders us.”

Tucker shakes his head and glances toward Sarge’s office. “Well… he can’t be any worse than what we’ve got now.”

* * *

The next three days are spent wondering what this guy’s like. Grif is convinced that he’s half shark and probably in twenty different gangs. Even with extensive googling, Simmons hasn’t been able to find the guy. Although it doesn’t help that none of them have ever thought to ask Tex’s last name. Or her first name, although Tucker knows that just because he’s heard Church say it now and then. Church is no help, apparently he’s been sworn to secrecy.

“She says he goes by Wash,” Sarge finally says, the day before the guy’s supposed to show up.

“Did she tell you what he did?” Grif asks, sounding almost eager. “My money's on manslaughter cause they couldn’t prove it was murder.”

“What he did or didn’t do is none of your damn business, Grif.”

Tucker looks over, finally dropping the act of pretending not to listen while counting the mints in the jar next to the register. “So you do know?”

“Tex and I had our conversation in private for a reason.” Sarge slams a hand on the counter and heads back to the office. “Now get back to work!”

For the first time in ages, Tucker’s actually excited to get to work. He drives in with Caboose and Kai, pulling into the lot behind the diner twenty minutes early.

“What if he’s like an undercover cop? No, think about it! What better way to get in with the gangs than to go to prison!” Kai’s actually showing up to her shift for once. Typically she blows off at least two shifts a week and comes an hour late when she bothers showing up at all. But Tucker’s pretty sure they’re all going to be there today.

“Or maybe he is a secret agent. Oh, or a superhero! Sent to stop evil from taking over the world!”

Tucker rolls his eyes. “What evil is he gonna fight working at a shitty diner?”

Caboose thinks for a moment. “Childhood obesity?”

“How the fuck does your brain even work, dude?” Tucker shakes his head. “C’mon, he’s supposed to be here soon.”

As soon as they step inside, all three of them are put to work, scrubbing the place from top to bottom, a frantic Simmons aggressively disinfecting everything in sight.

“Dude, what the fuck is this?” Tucker asks, gesturing with his towel as he wipes down a table. “You didn’t even want the guy here, why are you making us clean shit up for him?”

Simmons adjusts his glasses and stares at his shoes. “It’s still very important to make a good impression.”

“Plus, if he thinks we cleaned shit up for him, maybe he won’t murder all of us,” Grif says from his position behind the counter where he’s been cleaning the same two inches of tile for the last ten minutes.

Tex’s SUV pulls into the parking lot five minutes early. There’s a frantic scramble to hide all the cleaning supplies and look natural as she and a man hop out of the car. She strides in, not bothering to hold the door for the guy behind her. “Well, here he is, you’re welcome.”

Tucker’s back behind the cash register and leans slightly to one side to peer around her as Wash follows her up to the counter. He has the same blonde hair and stormy gray eyes as Tex, though he’s got four times the amount of freckles. They’ve got similar builds, tall, with broad shoulders, all lean muscle, coiled and tense. There’s a scar across his nose, which, like Tex’s, looks like it’s been broken a few times, and what looks like a burn mark creeping around the back of his neck.

He’s hot as fuck. Tucker fights the urge to whistle. Kai does not. She’s leaning against the counter next to him, arms crossed in that way that draws the eye straight to her boobs. “This the new guy? He’s kinda hot.”

Tex shoots her a look, one eyebrow rising. “Trust me, he’s not your type.”

Kai tips her head to one side. “Nah, pretty sure hot’s my type. Unless I’m right and he’s a fucking cop.”

Wash blinks at her and then at Tex. “What? I’m… not a cop.”

He’s got a nice voice, sort of soft and smooth, not as deep as Tucker expects. It sounds cute when he’s confused.

Kai wrinkles up her nose. “That’s just what a cop would say, _cop_.”

Tucker edges around her, moving around the counter to offer his hand. “Don’t worry about her, she’s just messing with you. I’m Tucker, good to meet you, man--”

“No Tucker.” Tex glares at him, though she makes no move to stop Wash taking his hand.

“What? Can’t I say hello?” He grins up at Wash. “So, you come here often, baby?”

Wash cocks an eyebrow at him, looking a little uncertain. “Tex never told me her friends were so… welcoming.”

“I also didn’t call them my friends. These are Church’s idiots, not mine. Where’s Sarge?”

Tucker shrugs. “Probably his office.”

“Right, c’mon, you can play with the other kids later.” Tex grabs Wash by the elbow and drags him along.

He offers an awkward little half wave over his shoulder as he goes. “It was nice meeting you.”

Tucker shoots him a wink and leans back against the counter. He waits for the sound of the office door closing before turning to peer into the kitchen. “So, you guys done pretending you weren’t listening?”

Caboose and Donut step out of the door as Grif and Simmons pop up to look through the window. Grif scoffs. “That’s Tex’s scary prison brother? Lame. He didn’t even break your hand.”

“He probably got arrested for embezzling or something,” Simmons says disdainfully.

Caboose is practically bouncing on the spot. “I think he seemed nice. I cannot wait to be best friends with Mr. Washingtub. Then I will have the most best friends.”

“I dunno, he was kinda awkward, like he didn’t really want to be here,” Donut says thoughtfully.

Tucker snorts. “Yeah, cause all of us really love being here.”

Sarge emerges from the office a few minutes later, Wash trailing behind him as Tex heads for the door. She lingers there, frowning. “North’s coming to get you later, right?”

“Yeah, he is. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.” There’s something a little forced about Wash’s smile and Tex doesn’t look like she buys it for a second, but she nods.

“Fine. Any of these guys give you trouble… well, they’re actually pretty pathetic, you can probably take ‘em. Later cockbites.” And with a wave, she leaves.

“C’mon Wash, let’s see what you’ve got.” Sarge motions for Wash to follow him into the kitchen.

“You know, usually people just call my references--”

Sarge scoffs, hands on his hips. “References, schmeferences. All them fancy folks can go on for days about culinary this or spice rub that. What I wanna see is how you handle yourself in a kitchen.”

Wash nods. “Fair enough. After you, sir.”

The door swings behind them for a moment. Tucker glances at the others before striding in after them. He’s got to see this.

As shitty as the diner is, the kitchen itself is actually nice, a hint of what this place used to be. Or what it’s supposed to be. Flowers had kept it perfectly maintained in his time, regularly polishing every surface until it shown. Simmons has done his best to keep the place tidy, but it’s not exactly in the best shape.

Sarge stands across the prep table, watching Wash critically as he examines the equipment. There’s a slight frown on his face as he turns the dials on the stove and finds one of the burner’s broken. “How long has it been like that?”

“Couple months.” Tucker wanders closer, leaning against the table next to Sarge. “Grif busted it when he was trying to fix the oven.”

Wash’s frown grows. “What’s wrong with the oven?”

“Nothing if you only want half your food cooked.” Grif’s followed them into the kitchen, leaning against the wall next to the door. “Doesn’t heat up on the right side anymore.”

“And you haven’t called anyone to repair this?”

Grif snorts. “Right, like we’ve got the cash to call a guy for that. Not all of us have sweet embezzling money.”

Wash blinks at him, head tipping to one side in confusion. “What?”

“Told you that wasn’t it,” Grif calls out the door. Simmons curses.

Shaking his head, Wash turns around again and grabs a knife from the block. He balances it on one finger, brow furrowing a little. “The knives are good at least. Did these belong to the old chef?”

Tucker nods. “Think so, pretty sure he had his name engraved on them any everything.”

Wash inspects the handle more closely, one eyebrow rising. “Butch?”

“Those were definitely his.”

“I see.” Wash takes the blade by the handle and then throws it up in the air, letting it flip twice before catching it again. He glances across the table at Sarge. “So, what do you want me to demonstrate?”

Tucker’s never really gotten those cooking shows, or how people say being able to cook is sexy. Cause putting things on the stove, right, super hot. Oh man, boiling water, next stop boner town. Flowers had always been calm and casual, taking his decidedly unsexy time with everything.

He gets it now.

Wash has his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and at some point the top button of his shirt came undone, but it’s the way he’s moving. The knives are like another part of him, moving almost too fast to see as he chops the last few good vegetables left in the fridge. It’s the way he keeps moving, never pausing for breath, doing half a dozen things at once. They had just pointed him to the fridge and told him to do his best with what they’ve got.

There’s smells drifting from bubbling pots and oil flying from sizzling pans, and Wash moves smooth as water from one thing to the next to the next to the next. Tucker barely notices how crowded the kitchen is now, all of them crowding around the other side of the table to watch. He tries to keep track of what Wash puts where, but Tucker’s eyes can’t stay on any of the bowls or dishes when Wash has that intense, laser focus look on his face, lower lip caught between his teeth, brow furrowed slightly in thought.

“Alright, try those.” Tucker blinks, tearing his eyes from Wash’s face to look at the plates being shoved across the table.

He’s made six different things. One looks like a salad, and one’s definitely some kind of burger, but the rest are a mystery. A very good smelling mystery. They look like the kind of shit someone would take pictures of for a magazine. Tucker hesitates, glancing over the plates. It almost looks too nice to actually eat. Or he thinks so anyway. Grif has no such problems.

“Holy fuck,” he says around a mouthful of some kind of fancy chicken thing. Since when did they even have chicken? “Are you real? Is this real? Simmons, pinch me.”

Simmons is too busy eating more that Tucker’s ever seen him, scarfing down the salad like he hasn’t eaten in years. His eyes are shining as he looks at Wash. “And this is vegan? _Actually_ vegan?”

Wash nods and Simmons pulls off his glasses to rub at his face like he might cry. “It’s more than I ever could’ve dreamed of.”

“Sarge, you hire this man, you do it right fucking now,” Grif insists, gesturing with a fork.

Tucker grabs one of the plates that still has something on it, some kind of pasta in a weird green sauce and tries a bite. For a second, he just closes his eyes, the noise that comes out of him distinctly inappropriate for work, but it doesn’t matter, because if he doesn’t get the rest of this stuff inside him right fucking now, he’s going to regret it forever.

“So,” Wash says after a long moment. “You guys like it?”

“Marry me.” Tucker groans again as he snags a bite of the burger. “This is better than sex. Well, not all of it, cause I’m really great at sex… just in case anyone here was wondering.”

“Eh, pretty sure this is better than your blow jobs,” Sister says, working through the plate she and Donut are sharing.

Tucker scoffs. “Is not. And how do you even know that? She’s wrong, by the way,” he adds, looking at Wash. “I blow like a porn star.”

Looking vaguely uncomfortable, face a little pink, Wash tips his head to one side. “I don’t know why I needed to know that.” He clears his throat and turns to Sarge. “So… does this mean I get the job? And is it too early to start reporting sexual harassment?”

Sarge sets down an empty plate and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand before offering it to Wash. “Yes and yes, welcome aboard, son.”

Wash sighs, but something creeps onto his face that might be relief as he takes Sarge’s hand. “Thank you, sir. I think. I’ll do my best to learn the menu as soon as possible.”

“Forget that shit. Can’t you just make these things?” Grif asks, pausing his licking of one of the plates. “This is way better than anything that’s ever come out of this place.”

Glancing between all of them, Wash rubs at the back of his neck a little uncertainly. “Well, I don’t really know what kind of food is popular in the area, but I could help rework the menu, I suppose.”

“Good, have it on my desk by Monday.” Sarge turns and grabs one of the old aprons hanging on the wall. He tosses it to Wash, who manages to catch it with one hand. “We open at nine, except on Fridays, and we close early on Thursdays for poker night. Listen to Simmons when I’m not here and never listen to Grif. Good to have you on the team, soldier.”

And with that, he leaves. Wash blinks at the still swinging door then slowly turns to the rest of them. “Uh…”

Six plates slide back across the table toward him. “More please.”

* * *

It’s not an overnight change, but things do pick up.

The menu is an issue. It’s not until he sees the first draft Wash comes up with that Tucker realizes that the guy is basically an alien.

“The fuck is foe grass?” he asks, brow furrowing. He hands the paper over to Grif. They’re all sitting at the counter just after closing. “Dude, I think this stuff might be a little high brow for the people around here.”

Wash sighs and drags a hand through his hair. “I’m just not really used to cooking like this. My experience is mostly in… slightly more well off establishments.”

Grif snorts. “Dude, you can say this place is shit. We all do. It’s cool.”

“It’s not that bad.” Wash glances around the diner and shifts a little on the spot, eyes lingering on the crooked paintings and stained carpet. “It could use a bit of work… here and there.”

“You ever cook in prison?”

“Kai!” Tucker and the rest of the table turn toward her sharply. There had been a sort of unofficial meeting after Wash’s first day. Tex had called it and made it more or less clear that asking Wash about his past, the prison bit or otherwise, wasn’t the best idea.

Of course Kai hadn’t bothered showing up to that.

She blinks owlishly at them. “What?”

Wash coughs and Tucker fights down a wince as he glances at him. But Wash doesn’t look pissed or upset, just vaguely uncomfortable. Although Tucker’s pretty sure that’s just sort of his default state.

“I did, actually. Not the entire time I was there, but… sometimes. Why?”

There’s a lot of awkward, but very meaningful looks shot around the table. Tucker meets Grif’s eyes a few times and then kicks him under the table. Failing to stifle a yelp, Grif glares at him for a second before letting out a breath. “Look dude, on the scale of fancy restaurant to prison, we’re definitely more toward the prison end of things here. Just stick to the basics.”

“But…” Wash’s shoulders slump a little and he looks like a kicked puppy, which isn’t fair for a dude who’s six feet tall with killer abs. At least, Tucker assumes they’re killer, he hasn’t gotten up close and personal enough to check. “Alright, I’ll work out something a little simpler.”

The second attempt is better.

Wash isn’t the easiest person to talk to. There’s one hell of a stick up his ass and he likes to scream when he’s frustrated. Which happens a lot. But he’s interesting.

Tucker’s closing up, pouring one last cup of coffee for Church when Wash walks by, heading for the door, phone in hand. He hesitates at the end of the counter, glancing back at them. “Are you sure you don’t want any help closing, Tucker?”

“Nah, I got it, man. Go get some fucking sleep,” he says, waving Wash off. Because Tucker’s pretty sure the bags under Wash’s eyes are trying to multiply.

He gets a little half smile and a nod. “Alright. Well, goodnight. You too, Leonard. Uh, tell Tex I said hello if you see her.”

There’s a flash of headlights through the window and Wash turns. “That’s my ride. See you tomorrow.”

Tucker returns the slightly awkward wave and leans against the counter, brow furrowing as he watches Wash climb into the passenger’s side of an old white truck. “That’s not the dude that dropped him off.”

Church looks over his shoulder and then back at Tucker, eyebrow rising. “Why do you know that?”

“Cause I notice shit.” Tucker squints. It’s hard to make out much through two layers of glass, but that’s definitely not the blonde who’d dropped Wash off that morning. This guy’s bigger and doesn’t seem to have any hair at all. “Why doesn’t Wash drive?”

“Pretty sure they don’t hand out free cars in prison, dude.”

Rolling his eyes, Tucker jabs at Church’s arm and goes back to wiping down the counter. Assholes can’t be bothered to clean up after themselves. “C’mon, I know you know shit about him.”

Church scoffs. “And what makes you think that? More importantly, why do you think I’d tell you if I did?”

Tucker groans and slumps down onto the counter, stretching out his arms across it. “Tex isn’t gonna kill you for telling me if she doesn’t know you said anything.”

“She’s got ears everywhere, man. I’m not saying shit.” Church crosses his arms and puts on his serious face.

“Chuuuuuuuurch.” Tucker drags out his name, whining without shame. “I’m dying here. I just wanna know something about the dude. It’s not like I’m asking about what he went to prison for, or why he calls you Leonard. Which is fucking weird, by the way.”

There’s something odd about the face Church makes, his gaze dropping to the floor. Finally, he sighs. “Alright fine. He’s been in like six car accidents and driving makes him anxious or something. I don’t really give a fuck--and if Tex finds out you heard that from me, I’m telling her you’re the one that puked in her motorcycle helmet last year.”

But Tucker barely cares. “Six accidents? Is that what the scars on his face are from? Or the ones on his arms?”

Church groans and thumps his head against the counter until Tucker hauls him away from it and drags him out to the car.

* * *

Now that Church has said it, Tucker can see anxiety written over every inch of Wash when he really looks.

The dude jolts to attention any time someone starts yelling, which, with the assholes he works with, is a lot. Any time someone goes into the kitchen, Wash instantly turns to look. And he never stops moving. Those long, slightly crooked fingers drum on any surface, run through his hair till it’s a mess, pluck at his apron strings and the ends of his sleeves. It sorta reminds him of Junior actually.

Tucker’s seen that look every first day of school, before every birthday party, and it makes something in his chest ache. It’s one thing for a ten year old kid to be nervous in new places, meeting new people, but Wash looks like he might bolt any time Grif drops a pan too loudly. And it just gets weirder when he watches Wash and Tex together, because Tucker’s willing to bet good money that she’s never been anxious about a goddamn thing. Maybe she somehow shoved that all onto Wash.

And he’s probably watching too close, but after a few weeks, he notices that some days are worse than others. On good days, Wash comes in and manages a smile as he walks past the counter and he only twitches when Grif and Simmons start bickering. There’s not a whole lot of good days.

Today’s definitely not one of those. Tucker can tell from the moment Wash gets out of the deep green mini van and doesn’t so much as glance back, shoulders rigid as he rushes in. He doesn’t look up as he rounds the counter, eyes fixed on the floor as he heads into the kitchen, but that doesn’t hide the fact that he’s even paler than usual under the freckles, his hair already a fucking mess.

Tucker hesitates, giving it a few minutes before peeking through the window. Grif and Simmons aren’t there yet. There’s still an hour before they open. Wash should be prepping. But he’s just pacing, typing out frantic messages on his phone. Whatever the phone does in response clearly just makes things worse and Wash curses under his breath and leans against the table. He ducks his head, clasping his hands together at the back of his neck just over that burn mark.

Slowly, Tucker moves to the door. His hand hovers there for a second before lightly knocking. “Hey man, uh… you okay in there?”

For a moment, there’s silence and Tucker winces. Shit. Maybe he should have just left him. “Y-yeah, I’m fine. Just… just fine.”

Well now he definitely can’t leave, cause it sounds like the dude’s about to cry or some shit. Fucking Christ. Tucker runs a hand through his braids, glancing around for something, anything. “Alright, well… you want some coffee or something? Just made some. And it’s the good shit.”

There’s another pause and the faint sound of movement. “Sure. Coffee sounds good.”

At least his voice sounds a tiny bit more steady now. That’s probably a good sign. Tucker grabs two mugs from under the counter, big nice ones. The shitty little white ones are for customers, these are special. It was something Flowers had started, with his big aqua mug, and the red one he had gotten for Sarge. Tucker wouldn’t call it a rite of passage, cause that’s fucking stupid, but it had been kind of a big deal when Flowers had left him the aqua one and he had passed his old blue one down to Caboose.

He looks over the mugs and grabs the yellow one for Wash. Technically it’s Kai’s, but she doesn’t even like coffee, so she never uses it. She probably won’t mind Wash using it just the once. They’ll get him his own eventually.

Massive, full mugs in hand, he opens the door to the kitchen with his foot and tries not the breathe a sigh of relief that Wash isn’t crying. Tucker flashes him a big, wide smile as he slides the yellow mug across the prep table. The corner of Wash’s mouth twitches up, which is probably the most he can do right now. Shit he looks even worse up close.

Wash is so pale, he looks almost sick, the dark circles under his eyes darker than ever. There’s a faint hint of blonde and gray stubble creeping along his jaw, but not sexy stubble. More like, dude hasn’t slept in three days and hasn’t had a chance to shave. His hands shake ever so slightly as he grabs the mug and takes a drink.

“Thanks. Uh… you’re right, this isn’t bad.” Wash talks more to the mug than Tucker, exhausted gray eyes distant even as he starts emptying half a dozen sugar packets into his coffee.

“No problem.” Tucker hesitates, taking a long sip to give himself a moment to think. Fuck, he can’t just not say something. “So… and I mean this in the nicest way possible, but you look like shit, dude.”

Sighing heavily, Wash nods, shoulders slumping a little. He sets down the mug and drags a hand through his hair. “I know. It hasn’t been a great week for me. I’ll be fine, I just need to get a few things worked out. Nothing to worry about.”

And the smile he forces into place looks a little stronger this time as he tips his head slightly to one side. “I do appreciate the concern, Tucker, but… really, it’s alright.”

Tucker shifts a little on the spot. There’s a lot going on in that tone, and way more gratitude than he knows what to do with. All he did was ask if the guy’s okay.

“Yeah, well, y’know, if you ever need a break or something, I can yell at Grif until he covers  for you, or whatever.” God, he’s not good at this. He can do the emotional stuff with Junior and Caboose sometimes, but this is weird. It’s not like he even knows Wash. None of them really do. They don’t talk, they don’t hang out, hell Wash doesn’t even come to poker night. Which is probably for the best, because those usually devolve into screaming messes, which probably isn’t the best place for a dude with anxiety issues and a way with knives.

“Thank you.” And there’s something a little softer in Wash’s face, along with a hint of surprise. “I can handle myself just fine, but… I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Right.” Tucker rocks back and forth on his feet. The only sounds are the faint noises of both of them slowly drinking their coffee. He’s never wanted his useless friends to suddenly show up more.

“So this is weird, right?” It just sort of explodes out of him and Wash goes still and Tucker instantly wants to take it back. “I mean, it’s just--like, I don’t know you, dude. Like at all. I didn’t even know Tex had a brother and I’ve known her for almost ten years. What the fuck is that about?”

Wash’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead and then, to Tucker’s immense surprise, he snickers and ducks his head. “That’s fair,” he says, faintly shaking his head. “She and I… we try to give each other some space now. Growing up we always got shoved into everything together, I think we both resented it, but it seems like that’s just what parents do to twins--”

“Wait, what?” Tucker holds up a hand to stop him. “You guys are fucking twins?”

“Um, yes?”

Tucker slams a hand down on the table and immediately regrets it when Wash flinches, a little of that guarded look coming back. But he’s pissed now. “How the fuck do you know someone for like ten years and never mention you’ve got a twin?”

“We weren’t talking for most of the last five,” Wash says, voice a little too casual, eyes back on his coffee. “I don’t know if that changes things. Tex and I… it’s always been a little complicated. She’s always been set on being her own person. Out of the five of us, she--”

“Wait, what?” Tucker’s pretty sure his eyes are about to pop out of his head. “There’s even more of you?”

Wash bobs his head from side to side. “Yes and no. We’re not actually related to them, but--well, you’ve met Tex’s friend York, right?”

Frowning, Tucker shakes his head. York’s definitely the sort of name he should remember, and it is familiar. Though not for the right reason. “You mean the dude dating Church’s sister? He’s friends with Tex? But… she hates Carolina.”

For some reason, that makes Wash furrow his brow. “No she doesn’t. That’s just… also complicated,” he says, dragging a hand through his hair.

“Starting to kinda see a theme here.”

That gets a huff that’s almost a laugh out of Wash as he shrugs. “I can’t really say you’re wrong. But yes, that York. I’ve known him so long, he’s like a brother at this point. I think Tex would’ve preferred having him as her actual sibling instead.”

“You guys seem cool now though.” Tucker hops up to sit on the table. “I mean… she did kinda get you the job here.”

There’s what might be a very faint smile on Wash’s face as he nods. “She did. I don’t know. I think we’re doing better. It’s… hard to tell with her sometimes. She did say I’m a lot more interesting now that I’m a felon, whatever that means. Personally, I don’t see it.”

Head tilted to one side, Tucker cocks an eyebrow. “Weird, sounds like you were trying to make a joke for a second there.”

Wash ducks his head again to hide the way the smile grows a little, and fuck, that’s kind of cute. Ex-cons shouldn’t be cute, especially ones with killer arms and wild eyes.

“I sort of was. Never been very good at that.”

Tucker flashes him a grin. “Eh, not bad for a first try. Gotta work at it a little more.”

There’s something a little softer in Wash’s eyes when he looks up at him. “I’ll do that.” He clears his throat a little awkwardly as the sounds of Grif and Simmons finally showing up filters in from the back. “Thank you again, for the coffee.”

Tucker nods and hops off the table. “Anytime, man.”

The words are casual, but… he means it. There’s definitely still one hell of a stick up the guy’s ass, but maybe Wash isn’t so bad. He’s definitely not half as scary as Tex. Which is why Tucker hesitates for several minutes before sending off a few furious texts.

When she calls him a minute later, he almost jumps out of his skin and quickly shuts his phone off and shoves it into the cash register. That ends up being a mistake for several reasons, but Tucker can’t spend much time thinking about that, because his attention keeps wandering back to Wash. Tucker catches his eye a few times through the window and almost walks straight into the counter when Wash shoots him a little smile.

Now that’s going to be a problem.

* * *

Tucker decides he’s not going to think about it. Because yeah, Wash is good looking, and that shy little smile just about turns him to goo, which is fucking annoying given Tucker’s very proud reputation as sex master extraordinaire. Or former reputation anyway.

He’s a responsible adult now. The single dad thing is working for him. Junior’s a great kid, and he doesn’t need his dad fooling around with Arsonist McStabby. After seeing the things Wash can do with a knife and a stove top, Tucker wouldn’t put anything past him. And plus, with Church living full time on Tex’s couch and Caboose staying put, Tucker’s basically got two kids, and with business actually picking up, he’s got more shifts than ever.

So there’s just really, really not time to think about Wash or Wash related things. Or things related to Wash that keep calling him and leaving very terrifying voicemails. But that’s another issue.

Still, he can’t just make himself stop noticing things, like the way Wash screams at everyone except Caboose, who he carefully keeps his voice gentle with. Or how he has to empty at least four packets of sugar into his coffee before he’ll drink it without making a face. And the way he keeps making ridiculous desserts when he’s got a bit of time to breathe.

“Dude, seriously, what the fuck?” Tucker says, shaking his head in amazement as Wash loads up the display case with eclairs and cream puffs.

There’s that sheepish little smile again as Wash shrugs and rubs at his neck. “Baking relaxes me. I actually prefer it to cooking sometimes. I’m just glad Sarge doesn’t mind me making these at work.”

Tucker sidles up, reaching past him to snag a cream puff. It’s like biting into a sugary cloud. He can feel it going all over his face, but that doesn’t stop him from shutting his eyes as he groans. “God that’s good. Why the hell wouldn’t he let you? This shit’s awesome.”

Wash is looking at him, amusement on his face as he shrugs. “We don’t exactly work in a bakery. Uh, you’ve got a little something… everywhere.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Tucker grabs a napkin from the counter and shoves the rest of the cream puff into his mouth before wiping his face. “There, did I get it?”

“Almost, there’s just a little bit… no, not there. Just--here, let me.” Wash grabs the napkin out of his hand and callused fingers land ever so gently on Tucker’s chin, carefully tipping his face so Wash can carefully wipe whipped cream from his cheek. “There.”

Wash is close. Like really close. Enough that Tucker can smell the spices from the kitchen clinging to him and see the places where he’s bitten his lip raw. And wow, he needs to not look at Wash’s lips, so he takes a step back and makes a show of wiping his face again. “Uh, thanks dude. Next time just tell me without all the manhandling.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Wash’s eyes go wide and he instantly jolts back, hands pulled to his chest. “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to--”

“It’s fine, dude, just… y’know, I’m a big kid, I can take care of my damn self.”

“Right, no, I know.” Wash rubs at the back of his neck again and he can’t seem to look Tucker in the eye and damn it, why did he even have to say anything? Yeah, alright, he had been a little too close, but this definitely seems like he’s pushed the dude about four steps back. “I’m just… gonna get back to the kitchen.”

“Yeah, okay.” Tucker waits for the door to close behind him before he leans on the counter and knocks his forehead against it a few times. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Sighing, he straightens up when the bell at the door rings and he slaps his ‘customer service’ smile back into place. The lunch rush picks up after that and there’s not much time to think about it. Probably better that way. Distance is good. Responsible adults are supposed to keep a little distance between themselves and convicted felons. Even really, really hot convicted felons.

But he keeps noticing things.   

Like how Wash bakes more often on the bad days. As much as he like stealing a couple eclairs here and there and taking a box of cookies home for Junior, Tucker can’t help watching a little more closely when the kitchen starts smelling like freshly baked bread.

Wash has baked everyday for a week when Tucker and Caboose come in to open and find him curled up asleep in a booth in the back.

Caboose is the one that spots him. He lightly taps Tucker’s shoulder and points. “Uh, why is Mister Washingtub taking a nap in the booth? It is not nap time.”

Tucker’s brow furrows and he straighten up from where he’s stashing his stuff behind the counter. There’s definitely a familiar pair of beat up shoes dangling off the edge of a long line of booths. “Shit. Lemme check on him. Go put your uniform on.”

But Caboose follows after him as Tucker walks quietly toward the occupied booth. Wash is curled on his side, wearing that same gray and yellow hoodie he always shows up and leaves in. His backpack is shoved under the table. Tucker frowns.

Usually someone comes to pick Wash up, but… he can’t remember seeing the green minivan, or the white truck, or even the weird brown convertible that shows up sometimes. Now that he thinks about it, he’s pretty sure he left before Wash for once.

Slowly, he reaches out and gives Wash’s foot a gentle shake. “Hey, dude, wake up.”

Wash is awake in an instant and Tucker lurches back as he jolts up, pulling something from his hoodie. There’s a click and a flash of metal and Tucker’s staring down a fucking switchblade, holding his hands up in surrender. “Whoa, Wash, chill! It’s just me!”

For a moment, confusion passes over Wash’s exhausted face. It’s quickly replaced by a look of horror as he drops the knife and scrambles up and out of the booth. “Oh god, Tucker, I’m sorry, I-I didn’t mean--are you alright?”

“Yeah, man, I’m fine.” There’s still a little hum of panic going through his veins, but it fades quickly enough. “You always carry that on you?”

Wash shakes his head, expression guilty and miserable. “No, not usually. Just… when I’m sleeping strange places.”

“Right, which kinda… leads into my next question. Did you sleep here, dude?”

Running a hand through his already mussed hair, Wash nods, eyes fixed on the stained carpet. “I… Sarge let me.”

Tucker finds himself glancing back at Caboose, eyebrows rising. Caboose blinks his big brown eyes and tips his head to one side. “Why did the sergeant let you sleep here? Were you having a slumber party?”

“No, it’s…” Wash swallows and wraps his arms around his middle, fingers digging into his hoodie. He’s slumped in on himself and Tucker’s never seen him look so small. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

His voice is soft and defeated and it makes something in Tucker’s chest ache. “Caboose, go put on some coffee.”

They end up sitting at the counter, Tucker shoving a giant mug of coffee at Wash along with a pile of sugar packets. There’s a thankful mumble as Wash starts emptying them methodically into the cup. Tucker gives him a minute before starting the interrogation. “So… alright, what’s the deal?”

Wash sighs, slowly stirring in the sugar. “Well, the short answer is I’m sort of homeless right now. Have been since I got out of prison. I lost my apartment when I got thrown in. The place was a bit… high end, the landlord didn’t want any felons on the property, so he told me in no uncertain terms that I wouldn’t exactly be welcomed back. I’ve been trying to find a new place, but it’s not going well. So I’ve just been staying with friends.”

“Is that why a bunch of different people keep picking you up?” Tucker’s vaguely proud of himself for not blinking when Wash looks at him with surprise. He just shrugs. “Noticed you going home with a bunch of different people. Figured, I dunno, you were banging a bunch of randos or something.”

Wash pinches the bridge of his nose. “Jesus Christ. No, I’m not sleeping with any of them. But yes, that’s why. Mostly I’ve been staying with my friend North, but… he has a son, and apparently his ex isn’t completely comfortable letting him have full custody if I’m over there all the time. North’s been trying to get her to change her mind, but it was getting ugly, and I don’t want him losing his son because of me.”

Tucker nods, thinking back. “Is he the blonde dude with the minivan?”

“That’s him.”

“Alright, well, what about the guy in the white pick up?”

If Wash is weirded out by the fact that Tucker’s apparently memorized his various rides home, he doesn’t mention it. “That’s Maine. He and I, uh… we were cellmates actually. We were released at about the same time. He had a house before, so he was letting me stay, but apparently his parole officer’s worried that I’m a bad influence.”

Tucker scoffs, eyebrows rising. “Seriously dude? Okay, you’re like the most boring felon ever. Uh… and I mean that in a less dickish way than it sounds.”

Snorting, Wash shakes his hand, waving it off. “That’s what Maine said too, actually. But his parole officer wouldn’t budge.”

“How about the chick in the convertible? Are you banging her”

“Connie.” Wash pauses. “And no. Not anymore anyway.”

Tucker’s eyes go wide and he leans in and definitely doesn’t feel a vague hint of jealousy followed by a surge of relief. Because it so doesn’t matter who Wash is doing or not doing. “What happened? You guys break up?”

“Yes, but that was back in college,” Wash says, shooting him a flat look. “We’ve stayed friends though. But she’s living with her boyfriend now and he’s easy enough to get along with, but it’s just… a little awkward.”

“I could see that,” Tucker says, nodding sagely. His brow furrows a little. “Wait, why aren’t you just staying with Tex?”

Wash winces and suddenly becomes very interested in the pile of empty sugar packets. “Uh, that’s not really an option…”

“Why not?” And then Tucker makes a face because he’s pretty sure he knows the answer to his own question. “Wait, dude, is it cause Church is there?”

Still not looking at him, Wash just takes a very long sip of coffee. Tucker tips his head to one side, arms crossing over his chest. “Seriously?”

“We just don’t get along!” Wash’s voice rises a few octaves as he sets his mug down. “We never have. It’s just--look, I don’t like him and he doesn't like me and when we’re in the same room together for two long it’s just… it’s not good, okay?”

“You think Tex wouldn’t kick his ass to the curb for you?” There’s a flash of something dark and bitter across Wash’s face and Tucker feels his eyes widen. “Wait, you really think she’d pick her boyfriend over you? That’s fucking cold.”

And alright, Church is Tucker’s best friend, but, well he doesn’t exactly have any siblings, but if he had to pick between Church and Junior. Well, it would be a fucking awful choice to make, but he knows who he’d have to go with.

“No, I… I don’t know who she’d pick. But that’s not a choice I’m going to force her to make either.” Wash sighs and straightens up a little. “I would’ve slept on a bench, but it’s been getting cold at night lately, so I asked Sarge if he’d be alright with me sleeping here just the once. I offered to let him take a night’s rent out of my pay, but he wouldn’t take it.”

There’s a slight rush of affection for the old man. Sarge isn’t the best boss, but he’s always been good about letting Tucker take off for Junior emergencies, and he’s pretty sure no other place in the city would hire Caboose.

Tucker hesitates, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. He almost doesn’t want to ask. “You got a place to go tonight?”

Wash’s face goes carefully blank as he shakes his head. “Not yet. York’s out of town or I’d ask him. I don’t know a whole lot of other people that live in the area anymore.”

“Ooh, ooh, Tucker!” Caboose’s voice filters through the window into the kitchen, the only warning before the door flies open and the big idiot is standing there, smiling like it’s his birthday. “We live in the area! Wash could stay with us!”

“Uh…” Tucker glances sideways at Wash, who’s frozen completely. Well, this is just great and totally not awkward at all. “Caboose…”

Wash shakes his head. “No, that’s alright, I couldn’t impose. I’m sure I’ll figure out something.”

There’s a forced calm and cheer to his words that sets Tucker’s jaw on edge. Yeah, there’s no way some new friend is just gonna show up with a place for Wash to stay. But there’s Junior to think about. Tucker’s never seen Wash hurt anyone… but the memory of that switchblade and the haunted look in Wash’s eyes when he’d woken flicker back into Tucker’s head.

“Caboose, let me just… think about it.”

There’s a wide eyed look of surprise on Wash’s face as he turns toward him. “Tucker, that’s really alright, you don’t have to--”

“I didn’t say you could stay, dude. I’m just… thinking.”

“He can stay in Church’s old room,” Caboose offers helpfully, already bouncing on the spot. “And he can make lunch for Junior in the mornings so he doesn’t have to eat the school food anymore, and we can have best friend slumber parties, and it will be the best ever and then Church will get so jealous, he will have to move back in!”

Groaning, Tucker buries his face in his hands. “Caboose get back in the kitchen, just… just go do anything else, okay?”

“Okay!” And he toddles off. The door shuts behind him and there’s almost instantly a crashing noise. “Tucker did it!”

“Goddamn it. I don’t even wanna know what that was,” Tucker mutters under his breath.

Very slowly, he risks a glance back at Wash, who’s face is very carefully free of emotion, except for the slight hint of curiosity in his eyes. “Who’s Junior?”

Tucker sighs and pulls out his phone. “He’s my kid. Lemme see, here,” he says, holding the phone out to Wash, showing him a picture. “He just turned ten, cute, right?”

There’s a small, soft smile on Wash’s face as he nods. “He looks just like you.”

And Tucker grins despite himself as he tucks his phone away. “Damn straight. He’s pretty great. The apartment’s kind of a mess right now cause he’s working on this big science project, but he’s gonna kick ass at the science fair.”

The corners of Wash’s eyes crinkle a little as he nods. “I bet he will. Are you raising him on your own?”

“Sort of. His mom gets him on the weekends.” He hesitates, dragging a hand through his braids. “She uh… she never really wanted kids. Junior was kind of an accident. We were both pretty young, but we figured fuck it and gave it a try. Figured out I’m great with kids, but uh, she’s not up for the full time mom thing. Which is cool. Caboose and Church help out sometimes, but… yeah, it’s mostly me.”

“Well, you have my utmost respect. I told you about my friend North, he’s been raising his son mostly on his own and I don’t know how he does it. Especially since he’s still sort of raising his sister at the same time.” Wash pauses there, glancing around him like someone might be listening. “And if you ever meet her, I never said that.”

Snorting, Tucker nods. “Got it.”

And then the awkward silence falls like Tucker knew it would. Wash doesn’t look at him as he finished up the rest of his coffee and rises from the counter. “I uh… I should go start prepping. But really, don’t worry about me, Tucker. I’ll figure something out.”

“Right, yeah.” Tucker nods and leans against the counter. He pulls out his phone as Wash heads into the kitchen. Junior’s not supposed to have his phone on at school, but Tucker knows his kid so he sends off a quick text.

_hey kid you get to school on time?_

_yeah of course i did :P_

_just checking little man_

Tucker glances toward the kitchen where he can hear Wash talking in that gentle voice with Caboose.

_so how would you feel about a guy from work coming to stay with us?_

_did uncle grif get kicked out again?_

Tucker snorts.

_no not grif. a new guy. he made all those cookies i brought home_

_oh! yeah he can come stay as long as he makes more cookies those were sooooo good XD_

_what if he’s a little scary?_

_why’s he scary?_

_he’s the one that went to prison_

_oooooh_

_yeah..._

There’ a slight delay in responses and Tucker hates himself for asking this. Junior shouldn’t have to worry about this. The kid’s got enough on his plate with school lately. Tucker’s halfway through telling him not to worry about it when Junior’s response comes.

_well aunt tex is kinda scary but she’s okay. and mr sarge is a little scary but he made me that really cool bike for my birthday. and even if this guy is scary he made awesome cookies and you talk about him a lot so he’s probably not that bad. and aunt tex says sometimes people do bad things and get in trouble but they do bad things for a good reason. so i think it’d be okay dad_

Tucker lets out a breath. He’s got the best kid in the world.

_okay junior, thanks. now put your phone away XP_

He goes through the rest of the day a little lighter on his feet, absently humming to himself as he brings orders to the tables that are more crowded than ever. The good mood lasts until the end of the day when he’s grabbing his stuff and looks up to see Wash through the kitchen window, pacing and looking about ready to tear his hair out. Oh shit. He knew he had been forgetting something.

Tucker pushes open the kitchen door. “Yo, Caboose, time to head out. Wash, grab your stuff.”

And Wash freezes, both hands still clutching at his hair. Very slowly, he turns, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. “What?”

“You’re coming home with us. C’mon, we’re gonna be late to pick up Junior.”

Wash is still just staring at him, like he doesn’t believe him. “Tucker, that’s not… you don’t have to--”

Tucker rolls his eyes. God, what a drama queen. “Yeah, I know, but here we fucking are. Now grab your shit.”

Wash is probably about to protest again when Caboose walk out of the back room, eyes bright and shining. “Is Wash really coming to stay with us?”

“That was the plan,” Tucker says, leaning against the doorframe.

Caboose claps his hands together and then lunges forward, scooping Wash up in a massive bear hug. “This is going to be the best sleepover ever! We will tell scary stories, and you can meet Freckles, and we can make s’mores!”

Wash looks a little terrified, totally stiff and frozen in Caboose’s arms as he’s lifted off the ground and spun around and around. Tucker snorts and takes pity on him. “Caboose put him down before he pukes.”

“Oh, okay.” Caboose sets Wash back on his feet and then grips his shoulders, smiling widely at him. “I am so glad that you are coming home with us. I will go grab you an extra coloring book.”

And he turns and rushes into the back room again. Wash stares after him, still looking a little shaken. Tucker strides into the kitchen, rounding the prep table to put a steadying hand on Wash’s shoulder. “You okay in there, dude?”

“Yeah, just… a little surprised.”

Tucker nods understandingly. “It takes a while to get used to Caboose hugs. So c’mon, get your stuff.”

Wash glances at him and his brow furrows a little. “Are you sure about this? It’s not that I don’t appreciate it, but you don’t know me, and--”

“Are you planning on murdering me in my sleep?”

“No! Of course not.”

“Then we’re good, dude. Well, alright, there’s one thing. Can you just leave the switchblade here?” Tucker crosses his arms over his chest and tries to look stern. He’s never quite gotten the hang of it even with Junior. “It’s not that I think you’re gonna do anything, but I don’t want Caboose or Junior finding it and hurting themselves.”

Wash nods without missing a beat. “Of course. I’ll get rid of it. I’m still sorry about this morning. I usually don’t have it on me. That’s… it’s a habit I picked up in prison that I’ve been trying to break,” he says, with a slight wince.

There’s a weird feeling that curls in Tucker’s gut. He doesn’t want to ask why Wash had to form that habit, but images flit through his head without warning. Things that make him feel sick for even imagining. Wash can’t be more than a few years older than him, and he’s built, but in a lithe way. Definitely a pretty boy. That panicked, terrified look he’d seen in Wash’s eyes flits through his head again and Tucker wants to puke.

He lightly pats Wash’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, dude. Now c’mon, we’re seriously gonna be late. Oh, and grab some of those cookie things you made earlier. Junior loved the ones you made last time.”

For some reason, that makes Wash’s whole face light up, like he’s never heard anyone say they liked his food before. “Really? He did?”

“Uh, yeah, no shit he did. Everything you make is awesome, man,” Tucker says, lightly nudging Wash’s side.

And there he goes, ducking his head again, but Tucker’s close enough that it doesn’t hide the little smile on his face. Or the fucking blush that spreads over Wash’s cheeks. Fuck. “Well, I’ll make sure to grab some. I can make dinner too, if you want. And breakfast tomorrow.”

Tucker almost protests, because that definitely seems like he’d be taking advantage a little, but then he remembers the smells that waft out of the kitchen when Wash makes omelets and he almost starts drooling. “Fuck, dude, if you cook for us, you can stay forever.”

Wash rolls his eyes, but there’s still a hint of a smile on his face. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary, but I’m happy to feed you as long as you let me stay.”

“Done and done,” Tucker says offering his hand to Wash.

There’s another eye roll, but this one feels fonder as Wash shakes his hand and then finally moves to grab his things. Tucker can’t stop himself from watching him go. There’s still a slight hint of nerves, but there’s something else that feels warm bubbling up in his chest. Because as he heads out to the car, Caboose babbling along happily at Wash behind him, it feels like this might work.


	2. it's not unusual

The thing about sexy food fights is that no one tells you how gross it is to clean up afterward. 

Said sexy food fight happens about three months after Wash moves in. Because after that first week, Tucker’s pretty sure Caboose and Junior would refuse to speak to him ever again if he tried to get Wash to leave. His fears about Wash interacting with Junior last about ten minutes. 

Junior’s not usually a shy kid, but there’s a little hesitation and nervousness when they meet until Wash drops to get on his level and asks about his science project. “Your dad tells me you’ve been working really hard on it.”

And then Junior spends the whole ride home talking about his volcano in between bites of cookie. He then grabs Wash by the hand and drags him all the way into the apartment to show him everything he’s been working on. Wash asks tons of questions and manages to do it in a way that’s not patronizing, and then he asks Junior what his favorite thing to eat is and makes the best spaghetti Tucker’s ever tasted. 

Junior lightly kicks Tucker under the table  at dinner and leans over to him. “Can Mr. Wash live here? Please?”

Tucker ruffles his hair and he can tell from the smile Wash is trying to hide behind his glass that he heard. “We’ll see, buddy.”

Wash even makes friends with Freckles, Caboose’s massive dog that’s half Bernese mountain dog, half bear. “I’m more of a cat person,” Wash insists, from his spot on the couch, Freckles sprawled out over his lap, “but I like dogs too.” 

“We’ve got cats too. Kinda glad you said that, they’ve sorta taken over Church’s room since he left actually.”

Instantly sitting at attention, Wash glances down at Freckles. “Do they get along with the dog?”

“Yeah, they do just fine with him, why?”

There’s another glance down at Freckles, who’s drooling a little on Wash’s knee. “Can you bring them out here? Please?”

“Alright, but I’ve gotta warn you, they used to be Church’s cats, they don’t really like anyone that much.”

Tucker eats his words and tries not to stare as Wash manages to get all three of Church’s asshole cats curled up with him and Freckles looking more at peace than he’s ever seen him. The biggest one, Alpha, a mean old tabby with one eye and three legs is tucked against Wash’s chest, purring like a chainsaw, head pressed up under Wash’s chin. The other two, Beta and Epsilon are curled against his sides. 

“Dude, are you even real?” Tucker asks, shaking his head faintly. 

Wash glances down at the cats and shrugs a little sheepishly. “I’m better with cats than people.”

“No shit.”

There’s only one person that’s not thrilled with the situation, and he doesn’t really get a say anymore. Tucker winces and holds the phone a foot away from his ear so Church’s screaming is a little less piercing. 

“You gave him my old room? What the fuck, Tucker?”

“What? It’s not like you were using it?” 

“It’s a matter of principle, jackass! What if I needed it again, huh? What if Tex kicks me out tomorrow?”

“That sounds like a you problem, dude. And we’ve still got a couch, or you could go stay with Carolina. Why are you being such a dick about this?” Tucker pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. 

“Because it’s my room, Tucker!”

“What was I supposed to do? The guy had nowhere to go, he was sleeping in the fucking diner, Church,” Tucker adds, the last part a low, hissed whisper. He’s in the back room of the diner on his break. There’s not much to it, just a few small foot lockers for people to keep valuables during their shift and a little bench, which Tucker’s currently occupying. 

There’s a very brief pause. “Why the hell was he doing that? I thought he was staying with that North guy. Or his butt buddy from prison.”

Tucker screws up his face even though he knows Church can’t see. “They weren’t--whatever. Both of them bailed on him. Something about North’s ex not wanting him around their kid.”

“Hey, that’s a good point. Do you really want him hanging around Junior? That’s pretty irresponsible--”

“Dude,” and he says it with so much indignation that there’s a crackle of static as Church sighs on the other side. 

“Okay, okay. Look, I just don’t like the guy, alright? It’s weird thinking about him touching all my stuff.”

“Y’know, that wouldn’t be a problem if you’d just fucking come and get all your shit.” Tucker rolls his eyes. 

“Yeah…”

They both know Church is too lazy for that. And that if he actually comes to get the last of his stuff, which really isn’t much, just some old clothes and a box of stuff he hasn’t touched since high school, that means he’s really moved out for good. Which is terrifying for a lot of reasons that neither of them are remotely emotionally mature enough to deal with or even acknowledge. 

Because it was Church’s place first, and he had opened the door when Tucker had been panicking with Junior and had no place to go. So Tucker’s never going to get rid of his stuff no matter how much he threatens otherwise. 

They’re both quiet for a few long moments. “Why don’t you like him?”

“What?”

“You heard me. What the fuck is the deal with you and Wash, dude? He’s weird, but he’s not a bad guy.” And Tucker’s slowly getting used to the weird part. Like how Wash insists on buying the groceries and gets super fussy about people not squeezing from the bottom of the toothpaste and his habit of getting up at three in the morning and making cookies while watching Titanic at least once a week. It’s not all bad weird. 

“Look, things just don’t work out when we’re near each other, alright? It’s fucking weird.”

Tucker rolls his eyes. “Well that’s nice and cryptic.”

There’s another rush of static. 

“Dude c’mon, it can’t be that bad--”

“I almost killed him.”

Tucker freezes and almost drops the phone. “What? How?”

“He… it was an accident.” Church’s voice is halting and painfully uncomfortable. “Back when we were in high school, I’d just started going out with Tex and he was kinda giving me shit for it, and… I wanted to just mess with him to get him off my back. He was on this--this medication for anxiety or something, I dunno. And I… look, I wasn’t trying to hurt him, it was just a stupid joke--”

“Church.” There’s something colder in Tucker’s voice than he means there to be, because there’s this horrible feeling creeping over him and settling in his stomach. “What the fuck did you do?”

“I switched the medication. Just with these sleeping pills. I thought, y’know, he’d just pass out in class or something. It was supposed to be funny, but…”

“He gets anxious when he drives,” Tucker says slowly, Church’s words from weeks before echoing in his head.

“Yeah. So he took one before he drove to school and… he had a bad reaction--and there was an accident. I don’t know if he was allergic to it or what. He was in the hospital for months.”

“Dude. What the fuck is wrong with you?” And Tucker has to force himself not to scream the words. 

“I know, I know! It was fucked up, and stupid, and I get that, okay? It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done.” Which, knowing Church, says a lot. 

“And Tex is still dating you after that?”

There’s a long silence. 

“Church?”

“She doesn’t know.”

“What? How the fuck can she not know?” Tucker’s got a hand tangled in his braids, eyes wide with disbelief. 

“Wash never said, he… he told everyone he just grabbed the wrong pills by mistake.”

“Jesus. But he knows you did it, right?”

“Yeah… yeah, I told him. Figured he’d bust me and I’d be fucked, but he just never said anything.”

“Why?”

“Hell if I know, man. That’s just how he and Tex are, they don’t snitch.” There’s a pause. “That’s why he went to prison.”

“What?”

“There was… his old boss, there was a lot of legal shit that went wrong, I don’t know the details. Wash got thrown under the bus, but he kept his mouth shut because he didn’t want anyone else getting blamed either, and no one could prove it was the asshole in charge, so he took the fall.”

Letting out a breath, Tucker drags a hand through his hair again. “Jesus Christ. I thought you said you didn’t know what he did.”

“Maybe I lied, I do that sometimes, get off my dick.” Church just sounds tired as he says it, which only makes the unpleasant hollow feeling in Tucker’s gut even worse. 

“But you said--”

There’s a knock on the door and Grif yells for him and Tucker sighs. “Alright, look, I’ve gotta get back to work. I’ll… I’ll talk to you later.”

“Right, sure.” And Church hangs up without another word. Tucker just stares at his phone for a second before he gets up and wanders out into the kitchen. Wash is leaning against the prep table, showing Simmons something in a large mixing bowl. He looks up as the door to the back room opens and flashes Tucker a small smile. 

Tucker ignores Grif telling him to get back out to the counter and moves to Wash’s side. He flashes him a grin that’s only a little bit forced and then looks at the bowl. “What’cha making?”

“Just something new I was trying--Tucker don’t, it’s not ready!”

But Tucker’s already grabbed the spoon and shoved it into his mouth. Whatever the fuck it is, it’s awesome. He groans in a way he hasn’t since the last time he and Kai got creative with a pair of handcuffs. “Shit’s that’s good. How is that not done?”

“It hasn’t been cooked yet.” Wash is staring at him with that exasperated look Tucker’s starting to get used to. It’s kinda cute, there’s this little wrinkle in Wash’s brow that he wants to smooth away. 

“Huh.” Tucker looks at the tasty goo thoughtfully. “So did I just eat a bunch of raw shit?”

“You did.”

“Worth it.” And he moves to stick the spoon in again, but Wash grabs his hand this time and pulls the bowl away with an irritated huff. 

“Didn’t you just get off break?”

“Maybe.” Tucker shoots him a little teasing smirk. “You trying to get rid of me, Wash?”

“Yes? Sort of.” Wash blinks at him a little uncertainly, one brow rising. “In this specific moment, I guess I am.”

“Fine,” Tucker says, dragging the word out. “But when we get home, you’re making whatever the hell that is. Actually, no, you’re showing me how to make it.”

Wash is doing that cute wide eyed blinking thing he does when he gets confused, eyebrows rising toward his hairline. “You… want me to show you how to cook?”

Tucker shrugs. “Sure. You’re teaching these assholes,” he says, nodding at Simmons, who makes a slightly indignant noise. “Can’t be that hard if they can do it.”

“Well, alright. I could do that. I’d need to go get more groceries first.” Wash’s eyes are flicking away, like he’s already making a list in his head. 

Grinning, Tucker lightly punches his shoulder and heads toward the door back to the rest of the diner. “You get whatever you need, baby. I’m ready to get cooking whenever you are--bow chicka bow wow.”

“That didn’t even make sense!” Grif yells after him, but Tucker could not care less. 

* * *

 

He does his best to put the phone call with Church out of his mind. Well most of it. Knowing that Wash didn’t go to prison for murdering someone changes things. He’s not a bad dude, just a fucking weirdo who got in a shitty situation. Which makes the whole him being incredibly hot thing a lot easier to handle. 

Unless Church was lying about lying. Which he does sometimes. Fucking prick. Whatever, Tucker’s going to take it for now. 

Also making that easier, Junior adores him. He tells Wash about his day in the car on the way home and Tucker’s taken to tag teaming homework, because Wash has a head for numbers in a way that Tucker just doesn’t, but he’s got history locked down. Which works out, because apparently Wash has a shit memory for dates. 

So Tucker gets to be the one to plan their cooking lesson. He carefully works the schedule to get them the same Saturday off. It’s perfect. Junior’s at his mom’s, and Caboose is working, planning to head to Donut’s for a sleepover. So they’ve got the apartment to themselves. Tucker doesn’t want to call himself a genius, but he’s kind of feeling like one. 

Wash has only had one three am baking session this week, and he seems to be in a fairly decent mood when he comes back from his morning jog, for some reason. The jogging is definitely a weird Wash thing and more proof he’s an alien, but Tucker’s not complaining when he gets back to the apartment a little out of breath, thin shirt sticking to muscles that go on for days. Tucker lets out a whistle from his place on the couch when he gets back. 

“That what you’re wearing for the lesson, cause I can work with that,” he says, grinning. 

“Not unless you want it to all taste like sweat.” Wash rolls his eyes, but Tucker’s half sure there’s a little smile playing around his lips. “Let me shower and then we can get started.”

“Sounds good.” Tucker keeps his carefully casual position until he hears the door to the bathroom click shut and he leaps off the couch and rushes to his room. He has to make himself hotter. 

There’s three possible outfits laid out on his bed that he had been in the process of picking between when he’d heard Wash opening the door and quickly moved to look as casual as possible. Does he go classy? Wash would probably be more into that. But the go to ‘hot date’ outfit beckons. He compromises, going with one of his nicer, black t-shirts, that’s just a touch on the small side, under an aqua sweater with a deep v-neck, and a pair of skinny jeans that he spends almost three minutes wiggling into, cursing under his breath as he wrestles with the stupid button. Alright, that’s it, he needs to cut back on eating all the anxiety pastries. 

He gets the jeans on and lets out a breath of relief just as he hears the shower shut off. Damn it. Wash is one of those people that either takes five minutes or five hours in the shower, no in between. Not that Tucker’s been paying attention to how long the dude takes in there. But there’s just some things you notice when you’re living in apartment with four people and only one bathroom. 

Tucker hops up on the weird disconnected kitchen counter, sprawling across it on his side, head propped up on one arm. It’s a little ridiculous, but he knows he looks good. He’s practiced this. 

The bathroom door opens and Wash wanders around the hallway corner, hair still damp, towel draped around his shoulders. And then he goes still, eyes widening, brow furrowing. There’s this little drop of water that’s creeping down his neck that Tucker wants to lick away. So he winks. 

Wash sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Is this the part where I draw you like one of my French girls?” he asks flatly. 

Tucker laughs so hard he falls off the counter. There’s a soft curse from Wash, who’s across the room in an instant, helping Tucker sit up, scanning him for injuries. “I’m fine,” Tucker insists, batting his hands away, still snickering. “Okay, but, dude, be honest--how many times have you watched Titanic?”

There’s a slight hesitation. “That depends. Do you mean just this week? Because the answer is twice.”

“What about just ever?”

“That’s a trick question.” 

Snorting, Tucker shakes his head and lightly shoves at Wash’s shoulder. “Oh my god, you’re such a loser.”

“I’m not the one posing on the counter,” Wash shoots back, and there’s a little hint of tease to his tone, something light dancing in his stormy eyes. He rises and offers a hand to pull Tucker to his feet. “C’mon, let’s get started.”

Tucker grabs his hand and alright he’s not totally ready for Wash to just pull him up in one easy, fluid motion like he doesn’t weigh anything, so he sort of smacks into his chest a little. And he’s definitely just bracing himself with a hand on Wash’s abs--there’s some joke about washboard abs in there somewhere--and totally not coping a feel. But with the thin, black button-down Wash’s got on, it’s sorta hard not to. 

So the up close and personal part of his grand scheme’s here a little sooner than expected. 

“Are you alright?” And Tucker’s never been so grateful for the dark complexion that hides just how warm his face is as he looks up at Wash, who looks genuinely concerned, the hand not still holding Tucker’s going to his side as if to steady him. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good, totally fine, not admiring your prison abs or anything,” Tucker says, because he’s an idiot. And then he quickly steps back because he’s an even bigger idiot. 

But Wash doesn’t flip out and call him a creep. There’s this blush that just creeps up his neck and onto his face as he glances down at himself as if he’s checking to make sure his abs are still there. Which Tucker can confirm, definitely still there, all four million of them. “I’m, um… that’s--thank you?”

Tucker snorts and shakes his head. “Uh yeah, you’re welcome dude. So, c’mon, we doing this or what?”

And the blush spreads to Wash’s ears. “What? Oh right, yeah, yes. Let’s just cook things. Over here. Right now.”

Wash turns and smacks his knee into the counter and then casually walks over to the fridge. What a dork. A fucking dork Tucker’s so bending over that counter later. 

Grabbing things out of the fridge and cupboards and messing with the oven, Wash seems to get ahold of himself as he settles into his element. “For this first lesson, I was thinking we would just start with something simple.”

“I do like things easy,” Tucker says, nodding. “Bow chicka bow wow.”

“I regret this decision immediately.” Wash shakes his head as he lays things out on the counter. 

The actual cooking part goes pretty well and Tucker pays more attention than he had expected, following along with Wash as he goes through the basic steps of making pancakes. It’s not that he doesn’t know how to cook. He’s learned a few things here and there, but it’s just so much easier to order take out or just bring some stuff home from work. 

Wash talks him through step by step, which is nice, and Tucker’s definitely going to blow Junior’s mind later when he makes him those dinosaur shaped pancakes he pretends he’s too old to like, but it’s not quite as hot and heavy as he had been hoping. Time to instigate a sexy food fight. Tucker’s done his homework and watched about five romcoms and a few slightly more explicit guides on the subject. So it’s safe to say that he’s got this.  

He casually tugs at the collar of his sweater. “Getting a little hot in here, don’t you think?”

Wash blinks at him, shaking his head. “Not really--”

But Tucker’s already pulling off the sweater, and then he remembers the other reason the date shirt was a great idea, cause it rises up a little and Wash’s eyes definitely flick to the place where skin’s showing above the waistband of his jeans. They flick away quickly, but there’s a hint of that flush back on Wash’s face and that’s definitely a win. 

Keeping his smug grin mostly on the inside, Tucker flattens his shirt back down and turns back to the bowl, giving a few idle stirs. “Y’know, this looks kinda runny to me.”

Wash frowns as he leans over to inspect it. “It seems alright to me, but you can add a little more flour if you want.”

“How much?”

“Just a pinch.”

Tucker reaches into the bag of flour, biting at his lip to stop from smirking. “You mean like this?” he asks, flicking the flour in Wash’s face. It dusts his freckles like snow.

For a second, Wash just blinks at him, looking decidedly unimpressed. The flour clinging to his eyebrows makes them look gray like he just aged twenty years, adding to the grumpy old man effect. “Very funny, Tucker.”

“Hold on, Wash, you’ve got a little something. Let me get it.” Tucker reaches for him with the batter covered spoon. 

Making a face, Wash leans away, trying to grab at Tucker’s hands. “You’re being ridiculous,” he says, but there’s a laugh behind his words. 

Tucker abandons the spoon and just dips two fingers in the batter, reaching over to just smear it down Wash’s cheek as he scrunches up his face and tries to squirm away. Grinning, Tucker leans back to admire his work. “There, definitely got it.”

Wash stares at him flatly, pancake batter dripping down his face. His hands twitch a little at his sides and Tucker can practically see the inner conflict. To drop to his level or to keep the stick up his ass? Very slowly, his eyes scan over the counter and he reaches for an egg. “I don’t know. I think you left something out. Come here, Tucker.”

Instantly, Tucker has his hands up as he slowly retreats, fighting to keep a smile off his face. “Wash, no, don’t you fucking do it.”

“It just needs another egg, Tucker,” Wash insists, voice low and serious, the corner of his lips twitching as he advances on him.

Lunging, Wash catches him around the middle as Tucker yelps and tries to squirm away. “Not the hair, you fucker!”

The egg smashes against the side of his neck and he grimaces as it drips down his shirt. Well, this definitely means war. Shifting, he turns and gets a handful of batter this time, slathering it across Wash’s jaw. Wash gets him with a cloud of flour in the face and then a smear of butter across his forehead. It occurs to him, somewhere between him squirting syrup up Wash’s nose and Wash smashing another egg onto his shirt that he hasn’t heard Wash laugh much before this. 

He’s got a really nice laugh. 

They’re both giggly and breathless when Tucker slips on a bit of the mess that’s gotten on the floor and trips into Wash’s chest. Firm arms instantly go around him. Wash is grinning down at him and his wild eyes look brighter than Tucker’s ever seen them and he’s so close, he can see the flour clinging to Wash’s weird blonde eyelashes. The laughter slowly fades and Tucker can feel Wash’s heart beating where he’s got his hand smashed against his chest. 

He’s not sure which of them moves first, but then his lips are on Wash’s and his hands are gross, but he doesn’t think twice before wiggling one up into blonde hair. There’s a slight hesitation and a soft intake of breath against his lips. And then Wash’s hands press into the small of his back. Tucker can feel the places where Wash has bitten his chapped lips raw as he coaxes them apart, earning the tiniest little groan that sends a jolt down his spine. 

Wash is firm against him, tipping his head willingly to let Tucker lick his way into his mouth and loop his arms around his neck. There’s sparking fireworks in his head and warm shudders going down his back and Wash smells like vanilla and his mouth is warm and wet and… minty. For some reason. 

After a moment, Tucker pulls back for breath. And this is the part where he’s supposed to throw out a line that makes Wash’s knees go weak, or his hands shift to Tucker’s hips so he can pin him against the counter. “Did you brush your teeth in the shower?”

There’s a slight hesitation and Wash is flushed, looking at him through half shut eyes. “It’s more efficient that way.”

Tucker snorts and shakes his head. “You fucking nerd.”

And he drags Wash back in. He can feel Wash smiling against his lips and Tucker does his patented move with his tongue that gets him a soft moan and hands pressing tighter, tensing against his back before they start moving. And if Wash’s hand moving to his hip isn’t an open invitation for Tucker to feel every inch of those abs, he doesn’t know what is. 

A soft buzz from his back pocket pulls him out of it. The way Wash follows him a little does amazing things for Tucker’s ego, but he doesn’t immediately lean back in and he hates himself a little for that. “Just, one sec. Might be Junior.”

“Right, uh…” With room to breathe, Tucker can see worrying emotions flit over Wash’s face as he takes a step back, hands falling away. Damn it. Wash runs a hand through his hair and makes a face when it comes away sticky and covered in flour. “I should probably take another shower.”

Tucker reaches out, pressing a hand to Wash’s chest a little more firmly than he means to as he tries to wrestle his phone out of the back pocket of his stupid too tight jeans. “Dude, just wait a sec--”

He finally tugs his phone free and makes a face at the screen before tossing it onto the counter. Which is definitely a mistake because the tiled surface has become a casualty of his brilliant plan. “See, it’s fine, just Church. Now where were we?”

Wash looks a little hesitant, but he lets Tucker tug him back in by the arm. Tucker’s leaning up a little, their lips an inch apart when the phone buzzes again. And again. “Just ignore it,” he mutters out the side of this mouth.

But Wash is drawing back again, shooting a glance at his phone. “Are you sure you don’t need to get that?”

Tucker huffs and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, extremely fucking sure, dude. I’m not even talking to Church right now.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, because Wash pulls back, hands going to Tucker’s shoulders to stop him closing the distance again, a frown on his still flour covered face. “Wait, why aren’t you talking to him?”

“It doesn’t matter--”

“He’s your best friend, Tucker. I think that matters.” And Wash sounds so fucking earnest and concerned, his brow furrowing. “Did something happen?”

Tucker groans and turns away, leaning against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “No. Sort of. I don’t know--I just don’t feel like dealing with him right now?”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Sighing, he shakes his head and then shrugs. Something soft presses against Tucker’s arm and he finds Wash offering him a small washcloth he must’ve snagged from the sink. He’s got one of his own that he’s doing his best to wipe the mess off his face with. Tucker takes it and it does feel better to get the egg off his neck. Wash leans against the counter next to him and it’s reassuring that he stands close enough for their arms to brush. Maybe they haven’t taken two steps back. 

“It’s just… I asked him why you guys don’t get along and he told me about the pill thing,” he says slowly, shooting a furtive glance at Wash. 

“Oh.” There’s still a slight frown on Wash’s face, but he doesn’t look particularly bothered by that information. “Tucker that was… it was a long time ago.”

Tucker’s eyebrows shoot up, because what the fuck? “Are you defending him? He said he almost killed you.”

“He did,” Wash says, nodding. “And I’m not defending him. Leonard and I… we’re never going to be friends after that, but I know he didn’t mean for it to go as badly as it did, and I had been actively sabotaging his relationship before that.”

“And that makes it fucking okay?” Tucker’s still staring at him, because he just doesn’t get how Wash is so fucking calm about this.

With a sigh, Wash shakes his head, twisting the towel in his hands. “No, it doesn’t. I haven’t forgiven him, exactly, I don’t know that I ever will. It used to be we couldn’t even look at each other without getting into a fight over something. But, like I said, it’s been a long time. And I’m trying to be better about letting things go.”

“Pretty big thing to just let go,” Tucker grumbles.

“Bow chicka bow wow.”

Mouth falling open, he turns sharply to stare at Wash, who shoots him a little sheepish grin. “That’s how that goes, right?”

“It is, but that’s my thing, you loser,” Tucker says, but he can feel a smile sliding onto his face as he lightly jabs Wash with his elbow. 

“Maybe I like your thing.” Wash immediately winces and blushes. “That didn’t come out the way I meant it--”

“It’s cool, man, I get that you want my thing. Lots of people do, don’t be shy.” Wide grin on Tucker’s face, he leans into Wash’s space a little more. Even though he’s looking everywhere but at Tucker, there’s still a little smile on Wash’s lips as he shakes his head. 

“Look, what I’m trying to say is that, I understand why you’re upset with Church, but you shouldn’t let a mistake he made years ago ruin things now,” he says, managing to sound calm and composed despite the fact that there’s still a blob of butter on his ear. 

Tucker blows out a breath and shrugs again. “I’ll think about it.”

And then he turns to Wash, his best bedroom eyes trailing over him obviously as he reaches out to play with the collar of his shirt. “But right now, I think I’d rather pick up where we left off.”

“As nice as that sounds,” Wash starts, plucking Tucker’s hand from his shirt, “I have syrup in places it should never be and I’d like to go take care of that. But, uh… maybe later.”

There’s a little hesitation and a faint hint of nerves judging by the way Wash bites his lip, but then he leans down and presses a very quick kiss to the corner of Tucker’s mouth before pulling away and heading for the shower again. Well, not quite the happy ending Tucker had hoped for, but at least he’s not running off screaming. 

Sighing, Tucker slumps against the counter and glares at his phone as it buzzes again. There’s even more irritation at Church now, but… Wash has a point. Maybe just a few more days of the silent treatment. His eyes flit around the kitchen and his brow furrows as he realizes he’s been left alone in the middle of the mess. 

“You’re helping me clean this, asshole!”

* * *

They don’t exactly talk about the kitchen make out session, and the cleaning takes the better part of the next three hours, so Tucker’s content to just lie on the couch for a while as Wash salvages what he can to make pancakes. But there’s a subtle change. Wash isn’t particularly touchy, in fact, Tucker usually finds him shying away when people get too close. He doesn’t like the road his thoughts turn down when he wonders about that. 

But now, Wash sits a little closer and doesn’t flinch when Tucker kicks his legs up onto his lap or grabs at his elbow to get his attention. He’s not quite sure what they are, but he kinda likes it. They’ve already skipped the part where Tucker brings up his kid and Wash admits to being a felon, so that’s pretty nice. 

And so are the little kisses Wash drops on his cheek or his forehead when no one’s around. It’s sappy as fuck and not what Tucker expects, but it makes this little fuzzy warm feeling curl around him that he could definitely get used to. 

Whatever they are, it works. As much as Tucker likes to recount past conquests and various creative sexual encounters that he may or may not be exaggerating, he hasn’t dated much. His relationship with Junior’s mom had been his longest, clocking in at just over four months. And the thing about having a kid young means that the dating pool isn’t quite as wide or as deep as he might hope. Tucker’s got his reputation for a reason, and there’s been plenty of one night stands, and a few repeat customers, but there hasn’t really been anything serious. 

There sure as hell hasn’t been anyone who helps Junior with his homework, or braids Tucker’s hair as he rants about irritating customers, or makes both of them and Caboose dinner every night without fail and then grumbles at all of them for not stacking their shoes neatly by the door. Not until now. It’s comfortable. And maybe that’s why Tucker doesn’t want to talk about it, because he doesn’t do comfortable. He does wild and out of control fun, or… he used to. That kind of fun doesn’t work so well with a kid. 

It still seems like the kind of fun he should want, and Tucker isn’t quite ready to think about the fact that maybe… maybe that’s not what he wants anymore. And maybe it’s not the fact that Wash is a hot ex-con that he likes. But he’s so not ready to think about what the softness in Wash’s eyes does to him, or how he’s started getting up when he hears the sounds of Titanic at three am to make sure Wash is alright. 

And Tucker’s always been pretty good at not thinking about things when he doesn’t want to. Like the fact that he and Church still aren’t talking even two weeks later. Or he’s trying not to anyway, which gets easier once Church stops texting him. 

But then much more difficult when Tex starts doing it instead. 

It’s the last day of week three of not talking to Church, not that Tucker’s counting or anything, when Tex’s SUV pulls into the diner parking lot. Leaning against the counter, debating whether or not Sarge would notice him sneaking another cookie, Tucker goes still. It’s pretty close to closing, only a few tables still full. Grif’s already called it a night and passed out in the back room. And Tex definitely knows that. 

Tucker squints, trying to see through her stupid tinted windows. It’s hard to tell, but it doesn’t look like there’s anyone else in there. She climbs out of the driver’s seat and slams the door shut behind her. Then she turns and looks straight at him. 

Oh god. This is how he dies. 

Tex is ten feet from the door and Tucker can’t breathe. Maybe she’ll make it quick and just rip his head off. No, this is Tex, she’s going to make him suffer. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Did he tell Junior he loved him this morning? He can’t remember. 

She’s five feet from the door and she hasn’t stopped staring at him. Caboose could help, but he’s too far away, in a booth with Donut getting his nails painted. And with Tucker’s luck, Caboose would end up taking her side. Shit, Church’s probably already gotten to him. He’s dead, he’s so dead. Maybe he can sneak out the back. 

Tucker’s too busy trying to plan a route through the restaurant that he doesn’t see doom coming until the bell rings as she walks in the front door. Eyes wide, he finds Tex grinning at him. “Hey Tucker, long time no see.”

“Fuck.”

In a move he’s going to brag about for years to come, Tucker vaults over the counter and sprints into the kitchen. He looks around, heart pounding in his ears. Gotta hide, there has to be somewhere to hide. Would she look in the oven? 

“Tucker?” Wash is moving toward him, brows furrowed in concern. “Is everything alright? Do you need something?”

Wash, perfect! Tex probably won’t murder her own brother to get to him. Probably. Maybe. Actually, knowing her, she’s already marked Wash down as an acceptable loss. Damn it. 

The door opens behind him and Tucker darts forward, ducking around Wash and hiding himself as best he can against his back. “Don’t let her rip my dick off and beat me to death with it!”

“Wait, what?” Wash tries to turn to look at him, but Tucker’s pressed flat to his back and holding steady. “What are you talking about?”

“Hey Wash.” And the noise Tucker makes when Tex speaks is totally manly and definitely not a high pitch squeak of terror. 

“Oh. Hi Tex.” Wash shifts, trying to crane his neck to look down at Tucker. “What did you do?”

“Hey, why do you assume I did something? You’re supposed to be on my side, dude!” Tucker hisses.

“There’s sides now?”

“Tucker, would you stop acting like a little bitch already? I’m not gonna hurt you. And if you think I won’t go through Wash to get to you, you clearly don’t know me at all.” There’s a slight pause. “Sorry Wash, nothing personal.”

“No, that seems about right. Tucker, come on, let go of me.”

Tucker doesn’t let go of the spots where he’s tightly gripping at the back of Wash’s shirt, but he does peer around him to look at Tex. She’s got her arms crossed and looks extremely unimpressed, but her eyes don’t scream murder, which is probably good. “If you’re not here to kill me, then what d’you want?”

“I want you to get Church to stop moping and bitching because you won’t text him back. He’s driving me crazy. He ate all my emergency chocolate and he hasn’t gotten off the couch in days. It’s like you broke up with him or something.” She cocks her head to one side. “If it weren’t so annoying, I’d be a little offended cause I’m pretty sure he never got this upset when I dumped him.”

Tucker considers that for a moment and then slowly shrug, half stepping out from behind Wash, although he keeps one hand curled into the back of his shirt. He’s not letting go of his human shield that easily. “I mean, he’d get pretty bad. One time he got so drunk he tried to follow me into the shower.”

Tex snorts and moves to lean on the prep table. “And he wonders why everyone thought you two were fucking.”

“People thought that?” Tucker makes a face and scoffs. “Dude, I can do so much better than Church. Uh… no offense. He’s just not my type, y’know? Wash gets what I’m talking about, right man?”

Wash is staring at the ceiling for some reason, a blush creeping up over his ears. “I don’t think I need to be here for this conversation.” 

But Tucker’s so not letting Wash get away that easily. Tex can go from one to murder rage in three seconds flat. He’s seen it. Slowly, he does move to stand more at Wash’s side.

Tex rolls her eyes. “Aw, aren’t you guys adorable, I’m gonna gag,” she says, voice laced with that sickly sweet sarcasm, which usually means she’s more irritated than anything else. Probably a good sign. “But seriously, get over whatever it is and talk to Church. I can’t take much more of this.”

“Wait, Tucker, are you still not talking to him because of… of that thing?” Wash asks, brow furrowing, sounding strangely disappointed. Traitor.

That gets Tex’s attention though and she leans a little further onto the table, arms crossing. “You know what this is about?”

Tucker meets Wash’s gaze out of the corner of his eye. “I… might.”

Lips curling, Tex glares at both of them. “Alright, now you’re all keeping secrets and I don’t like that. Someone’s gonna tell me what’s going on. Now.”

Tucker glances between the two of them. Wash is gnawing at his lip and dragging a hand through his hair, which is kinda hot, but not helpful. And Tex is slowly heading toward murder rage. “He’s just being a prick about Wash taking his old room, okay? And we got in a fight about it and I don’t wanna deal with him right now! There, happy?”

“Not really.” Tex’s eyes are narrowed and there’s something off about her expression that he doesn’t like. “You’re seriously picking a guy you barely know over your best friend? Really Tucker? No offense, Wash.”

But Wash just shakes his head, crossing his arms in a weird mirror of his sister. “No, I agree. I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Tucker, but I’ve told you where I stand on this and you need to stop using me as an excuse.”

Tucker looks between mouth of them, mouth open and shutting. He huffs and glares at the floor. “Y’know, all those times I said I wanted to get tag teamed by twins, this isn’t what I meant.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Gross, Tucker.”

With a sigh, Tucker finally steps away from Wash and leans against the table, still not looking at either of them. Because there’s a pretty big part of him that knows they’re right. But it’s easier to just keep not talking to Church. He gets that it’s an old incident, that Church isn’t proud of it, that he’s changed. 

And yet, there’s this little nagging voice that keeps wondering if he hasn’t. 

Scratching at his head, he shrugs. “I dunno, it’s just… look, I’ve always known he can be a dick, but this is some next level bullshit. And what the fuck am I even supposed to say to him? Just walk in there like ‘hey you’re a fucking ass, but I guess it’s okay’? Cause it’s not.”

“Tucker…” Wash’s hand lands gently on his shoulder. “I’m not defending him, but… we’ve all done things we regret.”

Snorting, Tucker rolls his eyes and has to resist the very strong urge to knock that hand away as he looks up at Wash. “Seriously? This coming from the guy who went to prison for being all noble and shit?”

Eyebrows rising, Wash blinks at him and then glances over at Tex, who looks just as confused. “What are you talking about?”

“That’s… that’s what Church said, that you got arrested cause you were being blamed for shit you didn’t do.” They’re still looking at him like he’s lost his mind. Church is a lying fucker and if he does go and talk to him, he’s punching him in his stupid little beard. 

Tex shoots him a look that’s almost pitying. “Really, you bought that?”

“Kinda.” Tucker huffs and looks to Wash, not quite glaring. “Alright, what the fuck did you do then? I know I’m not supposed to ask or whatever, but fuck that shit, this is driving me crazy!”

Wash shoots a look at Tex, one eyebrow rising. She holds her hands up and tries to look innocent. It’s a very odd expression on her. “Hey, I was trying to do you a favor. I figured you wouldn’t wanna talk about it.”

Sighing, Wash pinches the bridge of his nose. He drums his fingers on the table like he’s still debating answering. “It’s… a little complicated. I was sent to prison because I took the fall for my old boss after he committed fraud. I was arrested for assault. Well, attempted assault, I never actually got that far.”  

“Holy shit, you did try to stab someone.” The words are out of Tucker’s mouth before he can stop them, his eyes going wide.

“I didn’t stab anyone! Why do people always think that?” Wash’s hands flail and his voice reaches glass breaking pitch. 

“It’s not that bad,” Tex says, sounding bizarrely casual. She just shrugs when Tucker turns his stare at her. “What? I can’t be in the room with the guy without wanting to punch him in the face either.”

“Right? And he actually likes you,” Wash adds, nodding. 

For some reason, that makes Tex shudder. “Don’t fucking remind me.”

“Wait, who are you guys talking about? Who did you try to stab or assault or whatever?” Because Tucker’s definitely missing something here. 

Wash hesitates for a moment, shifting a little on the spot as he rubs at the back of his neck. “Uh… Leonard Church Senior.”

Oh. Tucker blinks and runs that one around in his head a few times. Because the whole assault thing kinda changes stuff a little. But on the other hand, Tucker’s only had to deal with Church’s dad on occasion, and he’s come out of every single conversation with the man wanting to punch him right in the teeth. 

“Huh,” he says after a moment, tipping his head to one side. “So what happened with the fraud stuff?”

There’s a slight sight from Wash, like he’s gone over the story a few dozen times. “It was an offer he made me. I could admit to the fraud charges and get eighteen months and go to prison for him, or he would push for that attempted assault charge to be changed to attempted murder and I’d get ten years. With his lawyers, I knew I didn’t have a chance, so I took the deal.”

Tucker’s not sure what his face is doing, but that feels about right, because he’s not sure there’s really an expression strong enough for the sick twisting anger turning in his stomach. “Seriously? What the actual fuck? I mean--Jesus, I always knew the guy was a piece of shit, but that’s just fucked up.”

Wash snorts and it’s only a little bitter. “You’re telling me.”

“I think you could have haggled more,” Tex says, and it definitely sounds like she’s been thinking about it. “You should have at least gotten to actually punch him in the face after all that. It only seems fair.”

“I’ll be sure to let you bargain for my freedom the next time I get arrested,  _ Ally _ .” Wash shoots her a smirk and Tucker’s never seen Tex turn even the slightest bit pink before, but there’s no mistaking the embarrassed red creeping up her neck as she reaches across the table and drives her fist into Wash’s shoulder. 

He winces and hisses, and Tucker doesn’t blame him cause Tex doesn’t know the meaning of the phrase ‘pulling your punches’, but he’s still grinning. “Fuck you, Wash,” she hisses between gritted teeth, glancing around like she’s checking to see if anyone heard. “Next time you’re on your own, I swear to god. And you!”

She rounds on Tucker, who jumps and moves to duck behind Wash again. “Go talk to Church. Fix your shit. I’m tired of picking up after you guys.” 

And, after aiming a vicious kick at the garbage can, she storms out. For some reason, Wash seems to find it hilarious and he’s snickering into his hand. He meets Tucker’s incredulous stare with a shrug. “What?”

“Dude, do you have a fucking death wish?” He’s never heard anyone talk to Tex like that, and he’s definitely never met anyone with the guts to call her ‘Ally’. Even Church only calls her Allison after like twelve shots. 

Wash waves a hand dismissively and rolls his shoulder. “Oh that was nothing. You should hear the way she and York talk to each other. She respects you more if you talk back to her sometimes.”

“Uh, yeah, no she doesn’t. I called her Allison once and spent the rest of the night hiding up a tree, and she sure as hell didn’t get all embarrassed about it.” Tucker shakes his head. “Guess that’s the twin card working for you.”

And that makes Wash blink, genuine confusion settling onto his face. “There’s no twin card. I’m sure it wouldn’t be that bad--she gives me just as much shit as anyone else.”

“She really doesn’t, dude. Look, I’ve known her for ages and I’m pretty sure I could say she’s my friend and she’d only throw me into a wall a little, but… you’re her brother, that’s not nothing, Wash.”

Tipping his head to one side, Wash’s brow furrows and his eyes flick to the still swinging door. “Maybe.”

Wash’s eyes flick to him and he casually wanders a little closer and reaches out to gently tug on one of Tucker’s braids. “She’s right though. You should talk to Leonard. I can tell you miss him.”

“No you can’t, stop touching me. He’s a lying asshole.” But then again, so is Tucker, because he’s leaning in and resting his head against Wash’s shoulder. He lets out a sigh when long, crooked fingers start carefully carding through his hair. “Fine, I’ll fucking talk to him. But I don’t miss that fucker.”

“Of course not.” He can hear Wash smiling in his voice, but at least he’s humoring him. 

* * *

Tucker waits until his next day off. He gets Junior on the bus and drops off Wash and Caboose at the diner. Wash lingers near the car and, after making sure no one’s watching, he pulls open Tucker’s door and leans in to sneak a quick kiss, which Tucker naturally tries to drag out into full on tonsil hockey. But Wash has some self control, the dick, and pulls away, hand resting on Tucker’s jaw. “Later,” he mutters against his lips before kissing Tucker’s nose and drawing away completely. “Good luck with Church.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Tucker just waves him off and tries to pretend his stomach hasn’t tied itself in several dozen knots. He waits until Wash is in the building and then forces himself to pull the car out of the parking lot. 

Tex’s place is actually within walking distance of the diner. It’s a pretty decent apartment considering that. Tucker drives around the block four times before he finally parks across the street and presses his forehead to the steering wheel. Maybe he should just text Church and say they’re cool. That would be enough, right?

There’s a knock at his window that makes him jump and smack his head against the roof of the car. Cursing and clutching at his head, Tucker rolls the window down and glares at Tex. “Seriously?”

“What? You were just sitting out here like a weirdo. Figured I should make sure you didn’t just die out here while you’re getting over being a fucking wuss.”

“Maybe I just wanted a little alone time, Tex, you ever think about that?”

She cocks an eyebrow at him. “Alone time? In your car? Out in front of my apartment? That’s what you’re going with here?”

“Huh. Yeah, can I get a do over on that?”

Rolling her eyes, Tex shakes her head and mutters something under her breath that he can’t quite make out. “Look, just get in there already. Take my key,” she says, already reaching through the window to drop it on his lap. “I’ve got shit to do, so you two can cry all you want until I get back tonight.”

“But--”

“Wash owes me, Tucker. I say the word and you’re not getting any for months.” 

Tucker snorts. “Joke’s on you, bitch, I’m not getting any now!” He pauses. “Wait…”

Text just looks at him and blinks very slowly. He’s seen Wash do the same thing when Grif tries to negotiate his way into a seventh break. And it’s really, really weird realizing that. 

Sighing, he grabs the key and moves to get out of the car. Tex pulls the door open for him and then holds out her hand expectantly. “Give me your keys.”

“What? No!”

“Caboose also owes me. And we both know that Junior will do anything if I promise to take him to laser tag again.” She smiles and there’s way too many teeth in it. “Give me your keys.”

“Fucking hate you.” Gritting his teeth, he drops the car keys into Tex’s waiting palm. Her smile is only half as smug as it could be as she tucks the keys into her pocket and pats him on the shoulder. 

“Now c’mon, get in there.” And she all but shoves him toward the building. 

Tucker stumbles a little and honestly isn’t that surprised to see her climbing into his car and starting it up. “What do I even say to him?”

“You could start with the fact that neither of you are getting any, you know, common ground.” And he must look really pathetic, because the smirk slides off her face and she sighs. “Just tell him you miss him, jackass.” 

Then she rolls up the window and speeds away. 

Tucker watches until the car’s out of sight before turning and heading into the building. He takes the stairs. It’s still not enough time to think and it’s also a terrible decision because Tex lives on the eighth fucking floor. By the time he gets to the door, he’s wheezing and cursing anyone and everyone he’s ever met who could possibly have led him to this spot.

The key is heavy in his hand and he practices a few opening lines in his head. They’re all terrible. Finally, he takes a breath and unlocks the door and steps inside. Tex’s apartment is small and sleek, all dark walls and a chrome finish, everything just a little too sharp. It suits her. Except for the pitiful blue bundle curled up on the couch. 

Church looks like shit. His hair's a disaster and in need of a wash and it looks like he hasn’t shaved in weeks, patchy beard growing out of control. There’s bags under his eyes that might give Wash’s a run for his money, his glasses smashed into his face because of how he’s lying. He’s got a remote in his hand, flipping through channels robotically. 

“Thought you weren’t gonna be back till late,” he says, glazed eyes still fixed on the TV, voice dull and lifeless. 

Half a dozen conversation starters go through Tucker’s head again. He sucks in another breath and strides over, shoving Church’s feet off the couch as he yanks the remote out of his hand and plops down next to him. 

“Jesus, Tex, what the--Tucker?” There’s this weird way Church’s voice goes soft and open in a way he hasn’t heard in a long, long time. Tucker can’t look at him. 

“What are we watching?” He’s aggressively casual, eyes fixed on the TV as he picks up where Church left off, hopping from channel to channel, barely even seeing what’s actually on screen. 

For a very long moment, there’s nothing but vague snippets of voices and static from the TV. “Uh… I think there’s a game on.” 

“Sweet.” Tucker flips through a few more channels and finds it. Women’s soccer, sure, why not. He’s pretty sure neither of them have ever watched a soccer game before in their lives, but he’s not going to keep going to find something he actually knows the rules to. “Got any beer?”

“Yeah, uh, lemme grab it.” There’s a little stumble as Church gets up, his feet tangled in the blanket he’s probably been nesting in for days, but he doesn’t eat shit, so Tucker doesn’t say a word. He returns with a six pack and Tucker takes the can he’s offered with a nod. 

The next five minutes are some of the most awkward in Tucker’s life. Neither of them are saying anything and he knows they’re both sneaking glances at each other when the other isn’t looking. Finally they both decide to talk at once.

“Look, man I--”

“You lied to me.” Tucker surprises himself a little and he risks a glance at Church, who’s blinking at him in surprise. 

“What?”

“About what Wash did. You made up that noble bullshit to make me like him more, didn’t you?” It’s still not easy to hold Church’s eyes, but he forces himself too. 

Shifting and pressing himself back into the couch, Church shrugs. “Maybe. Doesn’t seem like you need my help for that though.”

Tucker can’t exactly argue with him on that. “Yeah, but you could’ve just told me about the thing with your dad. I’ve known he’s an asshole for years. Not like knowing he’s an even bigger dick would change shit.”

Church snorts. “Right. Guess I must’ve got it from somewhere, huh?” 

He says it like it’s a joke, but Tucker feels his mouth go strangely dry. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

And again, Church can’t look at him, shrugging as he pulls at the tab of his beer can. “Nothing. Forget it. Let’s just watch this--”

“You’re not like him.” It comes out a little softer than Tucker means it to. They don’t do this. Neither of them are good at emotional things, they never have been. Usually they just fumble through making up with as few words as possible. Which is honestly sort of what Tucker had been hoping for here.

But this feels important. 

Shifting a little, he turns to face Church, pulling one of his legs up on the couch. “Dude, you know that right? You’re nothing like him. I mean, yeah you do shitty stuff sometimes, but you actually give a crap. And I know you feel bad about the Wash thing--”

“Did he tell you I got him the job?”

“What?”

“With my dad.” Church tugs off his glasses and drags a hand over his face. “The one time I try to do something decent for the guy.”

Making a face, Tucker tips his head to one side. “Alright, now you’re just being a dumbass. There’s no fucking way you could’ve figured things would go to shit like they did.”

“Tucker--”

“No, shut up. I’m talking.” And it comes out a little harsher than he means it to, but Tucker holds Church’s gaze when he looks up. “You tried to do something decent. Maybe you were trying to make up for the pill thing, but whatever, you were trying to do a good thing cause you felt bad or you gave a shit or something. Your dad never does anything for anyone unless he’s getting something out of it. And yeah, it didn’t work out, but that’s not your fault, dude. So just… stop being such a little bitch about it, cause you’re better than that. And you’re a lot better than your dad’ll ever be.”

Church looks at him for a few long moments, shock plain on his face, mixing with a few other things Tucker’s not sure he can place. Eventually, he nods and looks away and rubs at his face again and Tucker’s shoes are suddenly super interesting, he he’s just going to stare at those for a while. 

“So,” Church says after a long moment. “We good?”

Snorting, Tucker decides to chance a look at him. It’s safe, Church’s eyes fixed on the TV, expression carefully casual. With a nod, he reaches over and lightly punches Church’s shoulder. “Yeah, we’re good.”

“Cool.”

“Awesome.” He pauses, glancing at Church again. “Now would you go take a fucking shower? You smell like shit, dude.”

“Fuck off, what are you, my mom?”

And just like that, things are easy again. It feels like maybe something’s shifted a little. Something small. But something important. 

Church does get up to shower after Tucker dumps half a beer on him. While he’s gone, Tucker goes through the channels again and then, after finding that there’s really nothing else on, looks up the actual rules to soccer. By the time Tex gets back they’re both screaming obscenities at the TV and demanding the ref’s head. She just rolls her eyes and drops Tucker’s keys into his lap, reminding him that he’s got people to pick up. 

He slaps Church’s hand and knocks their fists together and makes him promise to hang out with Caboose next week before heading out. Tex gives him an affectionate elbow jab as he passes and she takes the spot he just vacated. There’s a lightness to his steps that he’s been missing as he takes the elevator down to his car. 

As he climbs in, there’s a buzz from his phone and a text from Church:  _ thanks _ .

It’s enough to make him grin the whole way home, even with Caboose going on and on after Tucker picks him and Wash up from the diner about how he’s Church’s best friend forever because they’re going to hang out and Tucker’s not invited. 

“You’re in a good mood,” Wash says, casually as they pull up the apartment and Caboose hops out of the back. “I’m guessing it went well?”

“Yeah.” And he hesitates, glancing at Wash as he gnaws at his lip. “I mean, I figured it would be, eventually. But… thanks for trying to get me to do it. Guess I need that sometimes.”

The smile Wash gives him makes something in Tucker’s chest just fucking melt. He wants to wrap it up and tuck it away forever. Just like he does the way Wash gently squeezes his hand as he says, “Anytime.”

* * *

There’s less time to stare at Wash than usual at work. Apparently word’s spread at both the community college and the local university that the diner’s got good food again. Something one of Tucker’s least favorite customers tells him as he plops down into a seat at the counter, his curly hair going in all directions. 

“Go sit with your friends, Palomo,” Tucker says through gritted teeth as he grudgingly pours the idiot a glass of orange juice. 

“Oh yeah, I will, I just wanted to show you this!” With a flourish, he pulls what looks like a page of a newspaper out of his backpack and slaps it down on the counter. 

Tucker glances at it and cocks an eyebrow. “What am I supposed to be looking at here?”

“Right there.” Palomo jabs at the page, grinning wide. “There’s a review of the diner! I got the critic to come by last week cause I told him you guys were awesome and one of the cheapest places in town that won’t give you food poisoning!”

“Ooh, what’s it say?” Donut pauses on his way to get a new pot of coffee, leaning over the counter to have a look. “Four out of five stars, not bad.”

Frowning, Tucker snatches up the page, scanning the article. “What the fuck? This asshole only gave Wash’s food four stars?”

“Oh, uh, no I think he really liked the food,” Palomo says quickly. “He just said the service wasn’t very good and the atmosphere was terrible and there’s only one hot waitress, but the food was great!”

“Well… yeah, I guess that’s fair.” So Tucker doesn’t have to track down the little asshole that wrote it. The part that actually talks about the food is… pretty nice. “Hey, you mind if I keep this? Just, y’know, figure Wash’ll wanna see his first big review here.”

“Sure! So hey, is it too early to start talking to Sarge about a summer job, cause I was thinking--”

“Yes. Get the fuck outta here.”

“Okay! See you later, Tucker!” The kid’s still smiling like a jackass as he gets up and moves to the usual booth he and his obnoxious friends always take. 

“I don’t know why you don’t like him,” Donut says, clicking his tongue disapprovingly. “He’s such a nice kid.”

Tucker rolls his eyes and moves to grab two menus as the front door opens. “He’s an idiot. Last summer I had to stop him from trying to deep fry his old sneakers.”

“Excuse me?”

Forcing the irritation off his face, Tucker turns toward the two guys that just walked in and offers his usual polite smile. “Hey, table for two? Or do you want to sit at the counter?”

“Counter’s fine,” says the one with blonde hair, who looks bizarrely familiar. They’re both looking at him a little too intently and Tucker’s sure he’s seen the brown haired guy before. Kinda hard to forget someone with only one eye. 

“York?” The name comes out before Tucker can really think about it. He’s only met the guy in person once, at this party Church’s dad threw a few years ago that he got dragged to. York had been hanging off Carolina’s arm, chatting up anyone who’d give him a minute of their time. In comparison to the rest of the people at the party, he hadn’t seemed too bad, in any other context, Tucker’s pretty sure the guy’s a jackass. 

A grin spreads over his face and he gives the other guy a nudge as they take two open seats at the counter. “Told you I knew him. Hey Tucker, how’s it going?”

“Alright. How about you?” he asks, more because the response is automatic than any actual concern. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you in here before, doesn’t seem like your kind of place.”

York scoffs as he grabs the menu. “Are you kidding? I love me some diner food. All those greasy spoons and cuppa joe’s. I’m all about it.”

Tucker crosses his arms over his chest and cocks an eyebrow. “So you’re here to spy on Wash?”

With a mock gasp, York presses a hand to his chest. “Tucker, I am so, so deeply offended. How could you accuse me of--I thought we were friends?”

“I’ve met you once, dude.”

“Oh come on, I’m sure it’s at least twice now. There was that time… at that thing, with that guy, you remember. Good times, right?” York’s grinning like he’s made a good point. 

Tucker snorts and shakes his head. “How the hell did you get Carolina to go out with you?”

“Now that is an excellent question,” says the blonde guy.

York winces. “Ouch, betrayal. Not cool, man. I thought we were in this together.”

The blonde pats York’s shoulder consolingly. “Oh, buddy, there’s no chance of that.” He turns to Tucker, offering a warm smile and his hand. “I’m North, by the way.”

“Oh, yeah, nice to meet you,” Tucker says, shaking his hand. The guy has a firm grip and a worrying amount of muscles that flex under his shirt. He’s still smiling, but there’s something a little too piercing about his eyes. “You guys want me to grab Wash? We’ve kinda got a rush right now, but I think he’s got a break coming up.”

“No, no, that’s alright.” Both of them make a show of looking over the menu and Tucker leaves them to it, checking on his other tables.

They’re both definitely watching him. Tucker glances back and catches York at least four times. It’s like the guy isn’t even trying to hide it. After the fifth time when York shoots him a wink, he sighs and heads back over. “You guys know what you want yet? Y’know, other than the whole creeping on me thing.”

North has the decency to look a little sheepish as he ducks his head in a way that’s so Wash-like it’s kind of jarring. “Sorry about that. We don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Speak for yourself,” York says, winking again. “As Wash’s cool uncle figure, it’s my job to make his boyfriend as uncomfortable as possible.”

Tucker chokes on air and glances toward the kitchen before he can stop himself. “I’m not his boyfriend,” is what Tucker should say. And it’s tempting, but questions push forward first. 

“He told you about me?” Because Wash seems like a pretty private guy. Tucker’s known him almost six months, and lived with him for four of those and he’s still not entirely sure if Wash is actually his first name or just a nickname. Which he should really figure out at some point. 

“Sort of.” There’s a hint of a smile on North’s face. “He mentioned he’d moved in with someone he’s working with and we narrowed it down to you or someone named Donut.”

“So Wash didn’t tell you we’re dating?” Tucker hasn’t said the words out loud before, hasn’t even really thought them. Because whatever he and Wash are doing, it’s not dating. But… he sort of likes how that sounds. Which is not something he needs to dwell on at all.

York leans halfway across the counter. “You guys  _ are _ dating then? I gotta tell Tex, she owes me twenty bucks. Fuck yes, I never win anything with her.”

Tucker should correct him, tell him that he and Wash aren’t dating. They just… make out sometimes. And cuddle occasionally while watching really sappy movies that Wash likes for some reason that Tucker will never admit to crying at. 

But he doesn’t say a word as York pulls out his phone, grinning to himself as he types out a message. North’s still watching him carefully. “How long has this been going on?”

Cocking an eyebrow, Tucker crosses his arms over his chest. “If Wash didn’t tell you, what makes you think I will?”

“You seem way easier to intimidate,” York says, not looking up from his phone. 

North immediately blanches, looking almost offended. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

York shrugs. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Me too,” Tucker adds, narrowing his eyes a little at both of them. 

Scratching at his head, North sighs and offers an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I don’t mean to. I’m just a little protective. Always have been. You have to understand, Wash is basically like our younger brother--”

“Nephew.” They both glance at York, who shrugs. “I’m sticking with the cool uncle thing, but please continue.”

North rolls his eyes and faintly shakes his head before turning his attention back to Tucker. “Wash doesn’t really talk about his personal life with anyone, let alone who he’s seeing.”

“So you decided to come down and interrogate me while I’m working and can’t get away?” Tucker cocks an eyebrow and leans against the wall next to the kitchen door. “Gee, I wonder why he doesn’t tell you shit.”

“That’s not what--” North cuts himself off, wincing and rubs a hand over his face. “I’m sorry, that’s really not what we’re trying to do here. And I’m sorry if we’re making you uncomfortable.”

“I’m still not sorry about that.”

“York, please--”

Tucker snickers and shakes his head. “It’s cool, dude. I don’t really care. I am gonna rat you out though.” 

And he pushes open the door to the kitchen. As usual, Wash looks toward it automatically. He meets Tucker’s eyes, brow furrowing slightly concern. “Hey Wash, got a couple assholes out here for you,” he calls. 

There’s another sigh from North and York stands on his stool to lean over the counter to wave. Wash goes still for a second, eyes widening for a moment before his whole body seems to slump in slight defeat. He waves Simmons over, handing off whatever he’s working on at the stove and crosses the kitchen, striding through the door to stand at Tucker’s side. 

“What are you guys doing here?” he asks, hands on his hips, suspicion etched into the lines above his brow. 

“Embarrassing you,” York says automatically, reaching across the counter to pinch Wash’s cheek. “Look at our little Washy, all grown up. North, take a picture.”

“Oh my god. Get off of me.” Wash bats his hand away and turns to Tucker. “Anything they did or said, I’m just going to apologize for right now.”

Tucker snorts and lightly punches his shoulder. “Don’t sweat it, dude. They’re just giving me a hard time--bow chicka bow wow.”

Wash pinches the bridge of his nose. “Jesus Christ. Don’t you start, I can’t handle all three of you.”

And the opening is right there, Tucker can’t not take it. He grins and pats Wash’s arm. “That’s fine, I’ll just let you handle me later, baby.”

Maybe because he wants to fuck with him, or because the more he thinks the phrase ‘dating Wash’ the more it doesn’t seem so bad, he leans up and kisses Wash’s cheek before darting around him and out from behind the table to go check on his other tables. He risks a glance back and finds Wash talking to the other two, looking vaguely irritated, but there’s a faint blush on his face, hand pressed to his cheek. 

Their eyes meet from across the room and Tucker feels his lips turn up in a smile that definitely looks stupid as fuck. And he can’t even be bothered to care. Yeah, he’s definitely fucked. 

* * *

It’s Thursday, which means poker night. North and York end up hanging around all day and because Donut is thirsty as hell and Kai is even worse, they get asked to join in. Around the fifth hand and third round of drinks, York is telling some story about Wash rescuing a cat from a tree, and Tucker notices the subject of said story quietly slipping into the kitchen. He waits about a minute before casually getting up to follow him. 

Wash is stirring a bowl of something chocolatey and there’s a familiar sweet smell wafting out of the oven when Tucker sidles into the kitchen. He walks over and leans against the prep table. “Might wanna head back out there soon. I think Donut and Kai are playing to see who gets to take North home.”

There’s a noise that’s a little too bitter to be a laugh. “Good, tell whoever wins they can keep him.”

Tucker frowns and reaches out slowly, fingers gently brushing Wash’s arm. When he doesn’t pull away, Tucker shifts a little closer, running the back of his knuckles gently up and down Wash’s bicep. “What’s up with you, dude? You’re tense as fuck.”

Letting out a breath, Wash shakes his head, lifting up the spoon, melted chocolate falling back into the bowl in a smooth ribbon. Tucker wants to bury his face in it. Focus, pay attention to Wash. “I’m alright, I’m just sorry about them bothering you.” 

“Eh, they’re not so bad.” Tucker shrugs. “North gave me a pretty good tip, so I’m not gonna complain. Seems like they just care about you a lot, dude.”

“They’ve got an odd way of showing it.” Wash hesitates, biting at his lower lip. Finally, he looks at Tucker. “Did they say anything about… you and me?”

And that feels almost like a trick question. But Tucker knows better. Wash doesn’t really do that. He’s quiet and evasive when he’s having one of his bad days, but he doesn’t play games. Which is pretty nice actually. 

“They think we’re dating,” Tucker says evenly, watching Wash’s face carefully. 

Red creeps up his neck to his ears as he sighs. “I… I didn’t tell them that. They like to jump to conclusions. I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Tucker tips his head to one side. 

That seems to catch Wash by surprise. He blinks at Tucker for a moment before shrugging. “I… I don’t know. We haven’t really talked about any of it.”

Well Tucker sure as hell can’t argue with that, so he nods. “Yeah. I’m a lover, not a talker.” He hesitates. “But we probably should, right?”

“Probably,” Wash says, nodding. 

They both just stand there for a moment. Tucker shifts his weight from one side to the other, glancing at Wash out of the corner of his eye. “We’re not really great at this talking thing, huh?”

There’s a little sigh and Wash ducks his head. “Apparently not. I’ve never really been good at that part. Tucker, I’m… I’ll just say it. I like you, more than I thought I would, and I don’t really know what to do about it.”

Tucker wants to make a joke, say he can think of a few things Wash can do about it, but those wild eyes are earnest and open and painfully vulnerable. So Tucker scuffs the toe of his shoe against the floor and shifts a little closer. “Yeah, I mean, you know I think you’re hot as fuck. And I guess I’ve just been trying not to think about it, but you’re a pretty cool guy. For a complete loser anyway.”

Wash snorts and that eases some of the pressure off Tucker’s shoulders. “Gee, how thoughtful,” he says, tone lighter than before. That doesn’t last though, Wash’s face falling a little as he looks away. “I know I’m not really the sort of person who you’d want to be in a relationship with--”

“Dude.” Tucker knows the face he’s making isn’t attractive, his mouth all scrunched up like he just ate something sour. “How about you let me decide that part?”

Holding up his hands in surrender, Wash shrugs. “I’m just saying. I know how going to prison looks, and I have issues… a lot of issues. I’m still on anti-anxiety medication. Before prison there was anger management--what I mean is that I don’t blame you if you don’t want to attach yourself to that.”

“And what if I do?”

Wash blinks at him, shock written all over his face for a moment before something a little softer settles into place. “Oh…”

Tucker’s face is a little warm as he drags a hand through his hair. “Yeah. I mean, Wash, seriously, you’re not the only one people don’t wanna ‘attach themselves to’ or whatever. Single dad raising a ten year old and a giant idiot who never made it to college and can’t cook for shit doesn’t exactly do it for people on dating sites, y’know?”

“I don’t know about all that. You make really nice dinosaur pancakes.” And there’s a really cute little smile sneaking onto Wash’s face. 

“Shut up.” Snorting, Tucker rolls his eyes and lightly shoves at Wash’s shoulder, moving just a bit closer with the motion. “But, y’know, if we are dating, I think we kinda skipped a couple steps. Like literally all of the dates. Pretty sure you’re supposed to have a few of those before I introduce my kid and you tell me your tragic backstory and then the whole moving in thing.”

“We have done things a little out of order,” Wash agrees nodding. And then he cocks an eyebrow. “Tragic backstory? Really? That’s what we’re calling it now?”

“I thought it sounded good.” Tucker grins at him. “So… are we?”

“Are we what? Dating?”

“Yes, you loser.”

Wash hums thoughtfully, a little smile playing around his lips. “I think we might be. If you want to go out with me. On an actual date. And preferably one that doesn’t end with us covered in pancake batter.”

And then Wash freezes for a second, eyes widening a little. “Wait… was that supposed to be a date?”

Tucker considers it for a moment and shrugs. “Maybe. I did wear my hot date pants.”

“Hot date pants? Seriously?” Wash’s lips twitch and Tucker can tell he’s on the edge of laughter. 

“Hey, you say that like you weren’t wearing your sexy bad farm boy button down,” Tucker counters.

Wash snorts and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I think those words all make sense independently, but not in that order. I just happen to like dressing nicely when I’m teaching a good friend how to cook. What’s wrong with that?”

“The part where I spend more time looking at your ass than paying attention to the lesson, just saying.” Tucker casually leans to try to get a look at it now. Huffing, Wash turns so he can’t, the tips of his ears going red. Which leaves the chocolate open for Tucker to dip his fingers in. He catches Wash’s eye as he slowly sucks the chocolate off and that blush creeps onto his face. “Maybe next time you should teach me how to make this stuff.”

“Huh? Oh, right. I could--I could do that.” Wash swallows and Tucker can’t quite stop himself from watching the way his throat moves. There’s this little cluster of freckles that looks kinda like the big dipper just next to his adam’s apple and Tucker wants to lick them. 

So he just casually reaches into the bowl again and dabs a little chocolate on Wash’s neck before he can move out of the way. Wash’s brow furrows and his mouth is half open, probably to ask what the fuck he’s doing, but Tucker beats him to it, leaning in close. “Hey Wash, you got a little something, right here…”

Before he can give himself a reason not to, Tucker leans in, dragging his tongue up Wash’s neck. There’s a slight hint of salt to his skin that tastes a little weird under the sweet chocolate, but the way Wash shivers against him and grabs at his waist is totally worth it. Pulling back a little, he grins, extremely pleased with himself. “Got it.”

Wash stares at him for a moment, the gray of his eyes darkening a little. Almost absently, he glances over at the bowl himself before swiping a little chocolate onto his thumb and then he brings it up and drags it across Tucker’s lower lip. “Looks like you’ve got something there too.”

“Huh.” That’s all he can get out for a second because of the jolt going down his spine. Tucker reaches forward, fingers catching the belt loops of Wash’s jeans and pulling him closer. “Think you can help me out with that?”

The corner of his mouth turning up, Wash nods. “I think I can do that.”

Tucker meets him halfway as Wash kisses him hungrily, lips already parted, eager for more. He winds a hand into Wash’s hair and slides the other around his hip and into the back pocket of Wash’s jeans. That ass feels even better than it looks. Wash groans into his mouth and his hands find Tucker’s hips. And Tucker’s ready to take back any protest he ever had about being manhandled when Wash grabs him and lifts him up onto the table, moving to stand between his legs. Instantly, Tucker wraps them around his waist, pulling Wash flush against him. 

There’s a knock that seems weirdly distant before a voice chimes in. “Hey horndogs, smells like something’s burning in here.”

Wash and Tucker pull apart and turn to look at York, who’s standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, looking somewhere between amused and annoyed. And he’s not wrong, there’s a distinct smoky smell drifting from the oven. 

“Shit.” Wash wiggles free of Tucker’s legs and quickly pulls a tray of smouldering cookies from the oven. He sighs as he sets the tray on the stove top and runs a hand through his hair. 

Tucker leans back, hands on the table as he shoots a halfhearted glare at York. “Thanks for the cockblock, asshole.”

York grins and offers a little mock salute. “Hey, that’s what I’m here for. You crazy kids need anything? A condom? Some mood music? I think the jukebox in the corner’s broken, but I can sing something if you name me a tune, I do a great Tom Jones impression.”

“York, leave! Now!” Wash’s voice reaches a pitch that Tucker had thought only Church and dolphins were capable of, his entire face tomato red. 

“Aw, Davey, don’t be like that, I’m just trying to help,” York insists, the biggest, most shit eating grin Tucker’s ever seen stretched across his face. 

“Get out of my room! I mean my kitchen! Fuck!” Wash buries his face in his hands and Tucker brings a hand to his mouth and bites his knuckles to force himself not to laugh. York doesn’t make the same effort, letting out a bellowing laugh as he doubles over, clutching at his stomach.

Wiping pretend, or possibly real tears from his eyes given how hard he’s laughing, York shakes his head. “God, it’s like high school all over again.” 

He ducks nimbly as Wash throws a spatula at his head, still grinning. “Huh, that’s also just like high school. Fine, fine, I know where I’m not wanted. I’ll just leave you two lovebirds alone.”

And finally he leaves. 

Wash groans and then there’s a thump next to Tucker as he bends almost in half to drop his head against the table. “I hate him. I hate him so much. Why do I have friends? They’re all terrible.”

Tucker snickers and reaches over, gently running his fingers through Wash’s hair, which seems to ease a little of the tension out of his shoulders. “Eh, I’ll trade you him for Caboose.”

“Can I get that in writing?”

“Sure, dude.” Tucker gently drags his nails over Wash’s scalp until he gets a soft little hum in response. He lightly tugs until Wash turns so his cheek is pressed to the table instead of his forehead. Leaning over, he drops a quick little kiss to Wash’s temple and hears a tiny sigh that sounds more content that irritated. 

“Hey, c’mere.” He gives Wash’s hair another little tug and he moves with it, pushing himself up and moving, with only a little hesitation, to lean against Tucker, head resting on his shoulder. 

“So… you really want to do this?” Wash asks, voice carefully casual, and Tucker doesn’t have to see his face to know the nerves that are probably written all over it. “Because, knowing my friends, that’s going to happen… a lot.”

Tucker snorts. “Dude, have you not been paying attention the last four months? That guy’s got nothing on my idiots. But… they’re kinda your idiots too now.”

“Huh… I guess they are.” And it definitely sounds like Wash is smiling. 

He lifts his head up after a moment and shifts so he’s got one hand on the table on either side of Tucker’s hips. “So, what does that make you, Tucker?”

“Me?” Tucker considers it for a moment before reaching up to loop his arms around Wash’s neck. “Well shit, I think that makes me your boyfriend…  _ Davey _ .”

“Oh my god.” Wash ducks his head and groans. 

Tucker just grins at him. “Six months and I finally know your name.”

There’s a weird look on Wash’s face when he tilts his head up again. “That’s… you already know the name that counts. Davey--David isn’t…” He trails off for a moment, shaking his head. “I don’t feel like I’m that person anymore.”

Wash’s eyes get a little distant there and Tucker’s pretty sure that  _ this _ is actually the tip of that tragic backstory iceberg. And maybe they’re not actually quite ready for that. But that’s okay. They’ll get there. Tucker  _ wants _ them to get there. 

“Well, that’s cool. I think I like Wash more anyway.”

Eyes back on his face, one of Wash’s eyebrows rises slightly, the corners of his mouth quirking up. “You do?”

“Fuck yeah, I do.” And he tugs Wash in for a long, lingering kiss. 

It tastes like the start of something Tucker could definitely get used to. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say thank you to everyone who left comments or kudos on this! I'm so glad people like my silly au. This was just supposed to be a short little thing while I took a break from writing In Screaming Color, and it rapidly grew out of control. At the moment, I don't really have anything more planned for this au, but I may revisit the Blood Gulch Diner at some point in the future!

**Author's Note:**

> Part Two: it's not unusual, coming soon! If anyone wants to talk dumb aus, I'm bizarrebird on tumblr too and I've got a million of them!


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